Testament
by T.L. Arens
Summary: G1 A religious cult declares war on Central City and Fort Max. Backed by alien technology, the Doppelgangers plague Central City with destruction and death, attacking at random. Meanwhile, Rusti attmepts emancipation from her parents.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: Rated 'R' for emotional and physical violence and language. Chronologically, 'Testament' comes before 'Silent Scream'. LOGICALLY, it comes after (it's a time-ripple thing).

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 1

PROLOGUE:

'Some events will repeat in an endless loop. Other phenomena may reverse their natural order. Past and present will collide. Ultimately as every law (in Time and space) breaks down, the universe will cease to exist.'

"Forever is a Long Time Coming"

Rusti was fifteen. A virus had attacked the Autobot Matrix of Leadership.

She was twelve. Life brought promise of a hopeful future both in high school and in college. She planned to join EDC right out of college, just like her sister.

She was nine.

Nine?

'Past and present will collide.'

Nine.

EASTER: 2029

The passway winding between Fortress Maximus and Central City (often called the Gateside Road) reeled in easy rounded turns and descended over long sloping hills. Few accidents ever occurred over the pass, even during Oregon's treacherous winters that often promised a coating of thick black ice. It was a joy driving along the pass for those Autobots daring enough to turn their headlights off and just use their scanners.

For Springer, it was the most fun he had all day. Flying back and forth, sending and receiving traffic reports along the Ribbon was not his idea of fun. He'd die for something a little more exciting-like a Decepticon popping from subspace to take pot shots at him. But that era had melted away like a bad dream. The Decepticons were all but gone, blasted clear into the next quadrant. And the world had fallen to the silence of peace.

For over twenty-five years, Earth had enjoyed an era not seen since the days of the Great Roman Empire, when one nation kept all barbarians from invading the borders of civilization. And with the defeat of the Decepticons and the rebirth of Cybertron, prosperity kissed all sides of the quadrant. People from all walks of life concentrated on business, art and exploration. Humans and Autobots together built space stations and traded with other worlds, moving forward into a space age the likes of which none of the former generations ever have imagined.

But even that did not come with an easy ride. Quintessons lurked on the borders of the Terran System, threatening to disrupt their work. But for the most part those battles were not much more than skirmishes.

Autobot scout Tripcord found Springer a minute later. The scout revved his engine high and loud, trying to tailgate the aerial commander. He came painfully close to colliding with the Triplechanger, but Springer merely revved his own engine so that upon reaching the crest of the next hill, he zoomed right off and transformed in mid air, changing into helicopter mode while Tripcord simply cruised on down the slope.

"Hey, pal," Springer called. "What's eating you?"

"You took off and left me!" Tripcord whined. "We were supposed to be patrolling together!"

"Oh?" Springer came back as though ignorant of his mistake.

"Well, I didn't know I needed a babysitter."

"Not funny!" Tripcord snorted. "You were purposely trying to evade me!"

"Hey, I'm a loner-type of guy, what can I say?" Springer defended. "I like the darkness and the silence."

"Fine!" Tripcord bit back. "I'll just let you talk to yourself the rest of the night!"

Springer inwardly sighed and flew on into the darkness, remaining close enough for Tripcord to keep track by scanner. Tripcord was so over-sensitive. He'd walk in on conversations not meant for his audios and take what was said personally. Springer had heard through the web that Optimus had discussed this problem with Tripcord before. Perhaps he needed a reminder. But, the triple-changer digressed, he had to put up with Tripcord for only a few hours. No big deal.

They came to the western edge of the city, out of the ten-mile pass. They skipped over an ancient last-chance truck stop. It's glory had long since faded, standing only as a reminder of a refuge sought by truckers during the days of Megatron's brief rule. Three miles after that they crossed the first out-of-the-way shopping center, then approached a collection of neighborhoods.

"Hey!" Tripcord called. "I thought we were just going to patrol the Pass tonight."

"Whatsamatter?" Springer jeered "Afraid a Human's going to see you naked or something?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it, Tripcord. I'm only kidding."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"Forget it, okay?" Springer veered right and aimed south when a fire burst into his scanners' range. "Hey, seems there might be some trouble east of us. You wanna check it out, or should I go alone?"

"No," Tripcord sulked. "I'm coming too."

Down three streets crowded with houses later, the two Autobots stopped at the vacant dark playground of a small private elementary school. A tall stake stretched toward the heavens. Flames danced about its stature, licking four dead Humans bound fast, head to foot to the ungiving wood. Tripcord called for help while Springer jumped the chain link fence and took a cautious glance-over. There was not one sign of the culprits.

"I don't get it." Springer's warning circuits screamed there was something wrong. He kept scanning and tried not to step on any possible evidence, "This thing just sprung up on my sensors. We should have spotted someone at least running away. Humans don't run that fast."

"Ohhhhhh." Tripcord moaned, sorry for the victims who suffered at the stake, "I thought the Humans did things like that only in their history." He and Springer examined the area after Springer doused the flames.

The triplechanger stared a moment longer, sorry to see people die in such an insentient manner. The barbaric scene reminded Springer of all the senseless acts of cruelty he had seen in his own life. He also remembered stories of Human history-how people died for their beliefs because someone else disagreed; or those who died because of someone else's falsehoods.

Springer grunted, "Sometimes, Tripcord, Humans are as insane and unpredictable as the 'Cons. Come on, we gotta report this."

He turned away and a flash of light, blinding and hot, shot right into his face, sending Springer flying several yards away. Several piercing needles pricks burrowed deep into his chest plate. Springer moaned and struggled to sit. Upon doing so, however, the tiny 'needles' detonated and sprayed acid all inside him. Springer tried to force himself up. Sounds of manual guns and laser fire whined and boomed in his audio sensors. The next minute, sirens from Central City police rang loud and long in the cool night air. The wrecker managed to pull himself up, but fluids and shorted components kept him from standing altogether. He fought unconsciousness long enough to watch Tripcord fight a mountain of a creature. It roared, bucking up on its two hind legs and pummeled Tripcord into the ground. The police fired at it to no advantage. It roared and turned away, threatening to come back. It was mechanical, but not mechanical. And just before he blacked out altogether, the wrecker noticed for the first time the school walls were covered in a strange, fear-wrought inscription.

* * *

The room stood cluttered with mystery novels, video disks of "Murder, She Wrote", "Sherlock Holmes on Stage", the entire collection of the "Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew Mysteries" TV series and a large poster of "Scooby-Doo". There were digipads lying all around containing crossword puzzles and eight versions of "Whodunit?" "MASH was on TV, at the moment, but no one paid it any attention. Even Blades who just loved Hawkeye couldn't tear himself away from the Battleship game he now waged with Groove. Across their little table, Streetwise lay reclined over the only couch in his quarters. His optics had glued themselves to a news line on the digipad in his hand while his companions called out coordinate numbers.

"C-14! A photon bomb right in yer optic!" Groove shouted passionately.

"Not even!" Blades came back. "I'm here on a totally different parallel reality, you goof! Stick the fishing pole back out and try again. I'm calling for an F-20."

"Pfff! Three thousand miles from anywhere! If you were a Decepticon, you'd be the furthest thing from this side of the Universe! C-24."

Blades gave his counterpart a vicious grin. "As they say, you're still out in the boonies, doc. Better roll up your flaps, hit reverse and try again. D-4.'

And to Groove's horror, Blades hit a tanker dead-on. He narrowed his optics, determined to win.

"Hey, guys!" Streets called out. "Listen to this: Seven people have been reported missing on the same day and they've found more of that weird graffiti Springer saw the other night."

"That's a yawner, Streets." Groove moaned. "The missing people are probably just a bunch of druggies someone decided to take to the cleaners."

Streets looked up from the pad, sending Groove a daring glare. "Would you be more interested if I told you the victims were college athletes?"

Groove finally returned his gaze. "College Athletes?" He echoed. He reached toward his buddy, aiming for the pad. "Lemme see that."

"Uh-uh." Streets embraced it closely.

Blades tried to choose which peghole would obliterate Groove's army entirely. "Have they any leads?"

"Uh-uh." Streets repeated. "Wanna go check it out?"

Blades finally figured out Groove's basic strategic pattern and obliterated his last Destroyer. Groove glanced at him and the two of them shrugged at Streets.

An hour and several supplications later, the three Protectobots picked their way around the scene of the latest crime. The bodies had been removed from around the swing set, their twisted positions taped off and every inch of playground equipment had been dusted for prints. Bushes were stripped of their leaves and little flags posted like faithful soldiers stood in the lawn to indicate footprints. The three Autobots combed the area, pestered by two EDC officials who annoyingly pointed out the obvious.

"See here?" Decker fingered a print to Streets. "This fellow had small feet for a man. We found a cigarette butt over here, but it proved to be older than the incident."

"Where's the sixth body? Was there clothing of any kind lying around?" Streets asked. "Prints on the fence itself?"

"We had three dogs cover the area. There's prints everywhere, as though several people were here. We found the clothing in a dumpster a good two miles from here. Purses and wallets, nothing taken from them. As for the sixth body, we're still on the look-out. But nobody outside of the park saw anything."

Surges made the Protectobot shudder. They found clothing for six people, but found only five bodies? Streets spotted Blades as he kept tromping about the sandbox, obviously a little bored. Blades wasn't into mysteries like the others. He preferred spending time target shooting or playing pool. Streets joined him a moment later, scrutinizing every inch and pebble before walking over it.

"What's on your mind, Blades?" He asked his brother.

"It's too clean." He answered immediately. Streets looked at him in surprise. Blades was interested after all! "The place is too clean. As if ghosts committed the crime. Didja see the burn marks where the bodies lay?"

"No."

"Come here." Blades and Streets left the sandbox and swished over the grass back to the swing set and its surrounding area. The swing bars stood a little closer to the edge of the sand pit, the grassy lawn not far from them. Streets noted how the swings themselves were removed, the chains undone by torch blowers.

"See this over here?" Blades pointed to a flattened portion of the lawn, barely detectable in the late afternoon shadows. Streets left the swings and stepped around the taped area where the body once lay. He stared at the short grass and sure enough, it was fattened out as though by a circular wind. The Protectobot detective merely shrugged. "What's it mean?"

"Do you recall those crop circles appearing in England?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's what this reminds me of. 'Cept, of course,

the size and simplicity of shape. The grass is dead, but not

dried. It's not broken, either."

And there was no blood around the bodies. Streets pondered over that and the fact that the bodies, all five of them, were laid circular to the swings. Their positions were twisted in ways impossible for a Human being to lay. Which led him to believe the victims were already dead before being laid here.

Streets was about to ask Decker about the parking lot when he caught Groove walking up and down atop the monkey bars. "Groove!" He shouted. "What the heck are you doing?"

"Getting some perspective!"

Streets shook his head and dared go no further. Lt. Decker joined he and Blades in a minute, but Blades wasn't willing to disclose his hypothesis. Streets frowned. This was Human territory, anyway. "What about the parking lot, Lt Decker? Anything there?"

"Clean as a whistle. Whoever did this, knew better than to get caught. So they cleaned up after themselves. 'Cept for the blood which the gals downtown are processing right now."

"Whoa!" Groove called out. He flew off the bars with a single somersault and dipped gracefully. He swept at the sand and trounced over, holding a tiny object like a discovered treasure.

Streets gave it a puzzled look. "A tennis bracelet? That's a bit expensive for an oversight, isn't it?"

Decker pulled out a kerchief and accepted the bracelet from Groove. The Autobot stood at attention, proud to have found something worthy. "What do you think it means?"

Both Streets and Decker glanced at each other like lost sheep then stared blankly at him.

Streets approached the doors to Optimus Prime's office. Most likely, Optimus would be far too busy to read this little report he made of their excursion to the park. But they were ordered to report anything out of the ordinary and Groove's finding was certainly in that category. He timidly knocked on the door and waited for Max to open it.

"Hello, Streetwise." Prime greeted quietly. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Problem, sir? No. I'm just here to submit this, that's all." He nervously waved it for the Autobot leader to see. Optimus gazed at him so that it made him even more nervous.

"Sounds important."

"Well, heh, no. I-the guys and me went to a park earlier today to check out that investigation on the six people who were found dead."

"Did you find something?"

"Well, Groove found a bracelet, sir. A tennis bracelet. It has 24-karat diamonds on it. Very expensive in the Human market. I thought it was significant because if the killers were after something valuable, they would have taken time to make sure they had all the jewelry. Which leads me to assume they were after more than just pretty, money-making objects. Also, there were no prints on the fence and the parking lot was clean, no signs of struggle. Which could indicate the victims were either dead or unconscious when they were in the park. They might have been killed elsewhere. And Blades found the grass area around the swings where a couple of the victims laid had been crushed, laying in a circular pattern and officials are still trying to find the sixth body.

Optimus seemed unimpressed. "Did you check the swing sets themselves?"

"The swing sets?" Streets echoed. "No."

Prime nodded. "Go back and check the swings then report back to me."

Stunned, the Protectobot backed out of the room, his composure reflecting nothing but uncertainty.

Blades and Groove joined him further down the hallway. Streets tried not to sulk in front of them.

"What did he say?" Groove asked in a hushed tone.

"To check the swing sets."

Blades and Groove stopped in their tracks, leaving Streets to continue on his own.

"That's it?" Blades asked, indignant. "Check the swings? What kind of answer is that? What's up his exhaust? I thought it was cool that Groove found the bracelet, myself."

Streets gazed at the pad and thought for a moment. "No. I think I know what he's getting at. I think we missed something in our search."

"What?" Blades egged on.

"I dunno yet. But let's go take a look, okay?"

They must have searched the area a good fifteen minutes and still found nothing. Molds of footprints proved several different people were involved. But Streets was sure that wasn't what Optimus meant. He leaned against the swing's right-side support beam and glanced from place to place where the area was marked with the victims' physical positions at the point of discovery. Each of the victims were laid in a different arrangement, as though very purposefully. One victim was laid in the cross-position so that the body resembled a 'T'. Another had his arms and legs and back broken so that his body made out a 'U' position. Streets followed the circular pattern and realized the bodies inadvertently pointed to the empty swing set itself. Streetwise studied the set, stepping a few paces from it.

The Autobot stepped back to it and glanced at the cross bar and found three lines carefully marked in the very center, as though someone were measuring a precise location. With a closer glance, the Protectobot also found arrows from those three lines; two pointed up, the center one pointed down. He followed the arrows up at the sky, then down to the sand. Up and down. Up and down until his optics caught sight what he thought were the threads to a large rope. He started to pick at the tiny threads when the tiny thread lead to a lump of Human hair, apparently still attached to its owner. He jumped back just as Decker came up.

"Oh Primus! Deck, you'd better call an ambulance here, right now!"

Streets stayed up all night, working off and on his latest report. He was supposed to take on surveillance at the VR park in down town Central City. But he needed time alone and managed to get Blurr to switch places with him. Blurr was pinned to medical watch for the night. Someone apparently didn't like him very well, and gave the poor hyper-active creature a desk job. Streets needed the quiet to consider what happened and how all the pieces fit. He kept an extra optic out for Springer who lay on his backside, still recovering from shock and loss of fluids.

Whatever took him out was not only a great surprise, but packed a wallop. Springer had not spoken for three days. Shock kept him either quiet, or allowed him to talk in gibberish. Either way, he proved unhelpful for clues.

"Whatcha got there, Streets?" Rodimus asked quietly as he checked on Springer through the monitor.

"Just some thoughts." He grunted.

"On the incidents?"

"Yeah. What I'd like to know is why they just suddenly happened. I mean, why no warning?"

Roddi sat in the nearby chair and signed his name on three digipads. "If you're going to declare war, what's the better thing to do; say it with words, or do it with action?"

"How do you know they, whomever they are, are declaring war?"

"Well . . ." Roddi tried to think of the easiest way to say it; "If you've attacked more than one person in more than one way or place, it means it's nothing personal; you're just picking a fight. If you're out to pick a fight with more than one kind of people, you're looking to do battle. Battle often ensues war, doesn't it?"

Streets narrowed his optics at that bit of reasoning. He couldn't figure out how Roddi could make his conclusions, but guessed they worked well enough. "I guess so." He finally frowned.

Rodimus patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room. Two minutes later, Streets watched through the monitor as Rodimus entered Springer's room and cautiously sat beside his friend. Springer didn't even notice. Rodimus said something, but the mics weren't on. Whatever he did say, caused Springer to look at him and give a wry smile.

Streets smiled himself. He knew what it was like to hear Optimus or Rodimus say something to him while he lay in pain. It was never a shallow, meaningless phrase. They meant what they said. Streets caught his breath when Rodimus looked up at the camera, staring right at him and sent him a smile.

Coincidence?

Not likely. Not really. Optimus had done that on a few occasions. Streets didn't want to know how.

As per the duty roster, Streets was paired with Chromedome for a routine surveillance route between Central City and the interstate highway north. As usual, it was a long boring job. Chromedome kept things light by gabbing on about a class he was presently attending at the local junior college. Stylor sighed a time or two and asked Chrome if his collar was straight or not. Streets ignored them entirely, thinking over and over about the park scene, why one body would be buried sitting up while the other five were laid around it in strange positions. Like spokes on a wheel, he thought. Or symbols round a central point.

He thought about the poor girl who was buried sitting in a cross-legged position. A pole ran up her back to keep her from falling over. They laid weapons all about her and kept her eyes open. There was obviously a meaning to it all. Perhaps the killers were psycho.

No. No one was that insane. The incident was too carefully planned.

Why? Did it have something to do with the four people burned at the stake just a few nights ago? Streets wanted to see the graffiti, but officials weren't permitting anyone to look at the photos and the walls were painted over the very next day.

"STREETS!" Blades called over the interpersonal comline. "You gotta get your tailpipe over here to the Cascade mall FTP!"

"Yeah?" Streets asked, suddenly roused out of automatic. "What's wrong? Some little kid lost her dolly in a water drain?"

"How about a BOMB THREAT, you moron! Sound a little more interesting to you?"

"Mm, a little." Streets came back nonchalantly. "Chromes, looks like you'll have to fill me in on Delta-X statistics later. I gotta go."

"Is he leaving already?" Stylor glanced around then glanced in the mirror once.

"Yeah." Chromedome groaned. "Okay, Streetwise. Not to

worry. Sty and I can appropriate the situation status under

these normal conditions."

Streets veered off the main strip into mid-town. The traffic was thick and growing worse. EDC officials on anti-grav cycles zipped up and down the street, warning motorists to stay away from certain roads.

One such official approached Streets. "Hey!" She called. "You wanna turn this boat around?"

"Wrong designation for something that has wheels, Cadet." Streets smartly replied. "My boss sent for me."

" . . . Hotspot?" The official asked.

"That's the bot!"

"You'll need to head right. They made a temp bridge so we can evacuate an eight-mile radius."

Streetwise was surprised. Whatever the bomb was must be exceedingly powerful. He followed the cadet's instructions and headed right, crossing the temporary bridge. In four more blocks, Streets came to Cascade Mall. EDC-issue sound equipment and detection devices of all kinds lined the mall from one end to the other.

Captain Drines of Douglas County Police stomped up one end and down the other in high-heeled shoes while her underlings scampered about, trying to please her. Hotspot and Blades stood next to the Payless Shoe Source store and watched while people came and went in a very disorganized fashion. The stores stood empty and dark around them. Across the way officers came and left a restaurant, signing paperwork and calling other departments for verification. Next to that they milled in and out of a comic book store, tearing the place apart. And two people peeked around the nearby ice cream shop. Drines barked orders into her cell phone and people ran back and forth asking her about paperwork and to sign this and that.

Hotspot shook his head. "This is no way to handle a bomb threat." He said through the interpersonal comline.

Streets glanced at his commander. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since a little girl found a timer in the bathroom."

"Just a timer? No bomb attached to it?"

"No. A sticky-note was plastered over it stating there was a very bad bomb in the mall and that a lot of people were going to die. That was that."

"We're dealing with a madman here." Streets mused.

Spots looked at him, now. "And what makes you say that?"

"The very fact that the bomber bragged about killing people. If you're going to kill someone, shouldn't it take everyone unawares?"

Hotspot flinched in surprise then looked at Blades. Blades shrugged. "Don't lookit me, man. I just fight and fly."

Streets ignored him. "Shouldn't Groove be here? He's the boom-bot."

Hotspot looked a bit indignant by shaking his head and flashing his optics. "I offered. Miss 'I-Am-In-Control-Thank-You' over there said her people have it handled."

Streets flinched now. "Oh."

"I FOUND IT!" Someone cried in front of a Hallmark shop. "I found the bomb!"

The three Autobots remained where they were while police and EDC officials scampered left and right, some leaving the building entirely. Captain Drines' voice shouted above the noise and people had to stop talking and moving to hear what she had to say.

"I want everyone to just stand still! This seems to have a motion-detector! No-one breathe!"

Streets frowned. "Not true." He snarled through the Protectobot's interpersonal comline. "If it had a motion detector, it would have already gone off. Motion detectors usually come with sound detection, too."

Blades groaned. "This whole thing was a hoax. Let's head out."

The police bomb expert lifted the lid while people continued to evacuate the building. Hotspot, Blades and Streetwise headed for the exit just as the bomb expert gasped. Hotspot caught the sound of surprise and held Streets back to listen in a moment longer.

"It's-It's painted on. The whole panel here is nothing but a good painting. The whole bomb is a fraud!" He stood, the lid still hanging between his hands and up from the box jumped a jack-in-the-box. The sudden movement startled everyone around, including Drines.

She laughed. "I don't believe the lunatics in this town! I want fingerprints and ID's people! I want this person to hang from the gallows! Let's move, let's move, let's move!" And she clapped her hands together like a primary school P.E. teacher.

The group disbursed and Hotspot groaned in disgust and stomped past Streets, aiming for the doors. He had seen more than enough.

Streetwise lingered and stared at the box while the bomb expert logged in his paperwork. Paperwork should be done after the fact, Streets thought to himself. He kept staring at the box and the puppet on top. Why the fraud? Why go to all the trouble to make such a nuisance? Of course, it could be that someone out there thought it was funny. It wasn't funny at all. People's lives were disrupted and money wasted. But why go to all this trouble? Were they looking for a little attention? Streets slowly made his way to the box and carefully knelt beside it while the bomb expert argued with an EDC official about how a form should be filled.

Streets noted right off the bat that the box was made of wood, painted carefully to effect as close to a bomb casing as artistically possible. There was a hole cut out at the top from which the puppet sprang.

The puppet stood ugly, as though a thing wrought in blasphemy. Its face twisted in a v-shaped smile, its forehead bore a set of huge eyeballs that reflected traumatic shock. A third eye was painted on the puppet's forehead. It too stared at the world in shock-driven terror, but tainted the expression with insanity. The puppet's weird smile gave Streets the surges but he kept staring at it. It dawned on him, now. The smile was the same he'd seen in the old 1990's Batman movies. The smile teased and provoked hostility, as if it jeered its audience, taunting, daring.

Surges ran up and down Streets. This was purely intentional. It was a distraction.

"There's another bomb, a real one." He whispered.

The bomb expert finally turned back. "Hey, do you have clearance here, pal? If not, you'd better get your tailpipe outta here!"

"But, there's another bomb here. This is just a distraction, a teaser." Streets explained.

"Don't you go saying things like that around here!" The expert snapped. "Someone 'll make sure your head will roll." He nodded his head in Captain Drines' direction. "Know what I mean?"

Streets missed the Alice-in-Wonderland analogy pinned on Drines.

The expert lifted the box from the floor and Streets spotted wiring connected to the underside. He gasped, reaching for the box but before he could do anything, a bomb blew out the ice cream shop and killed Captain Drines and twenty-five other people.

* * *

Streetwise handed another report to Optimus Prime. The Autobot leader scrutinized him, but Streets found he could not look Prime in the optic. He turned away, ashamed, and started for the door. He paused a moment then turned back. "Sir, I tried to warn them. I tried to tell them there might be a real bomb. But they didn't want to hear me."

Optimus' frame relaxed. "It's a rare and wonderful thing when people listen to good advice, Streetwise. You did what you could. No one can expect more than that."

"But people are dead!"

Prime nodded. "What happened is not your fault. All you can do from this point forward is take what you know and use it at the next opportunity. This is how experience is built. Hopefully police officials will elect someone with common sense to handle such matters."

Streetwise nodded both in agreement and gratitude. He left the office and joined Groove and Blades.

"Man, as the Humans say, this sucks!" Blades moaned. "If they'd let you two guys in, we wouldn't 've had this problem."

"Who was the head broad that got killed, Streets?" Groove asked as they left the building.

"Her name was Drines. Op's hoping the department will hire someone with common sense."

"Hah!" Blades mocked. "Humans and common sense! That's a rich one!"

Groove frowned "Well, I have surveillance duty at the docks in forty-five minutes. I'll see you guys later."

"Take it slow, there, pal!" Blades called. "Don't step on a squishy!"

Groove kept walking, but flipped him off. Blades laughed heartily and turned to Streets who was already walking toward their quarters. The brash Protectobot transformed, flew a few yards, transformed and landed next to Streetwise.

"Okay, Mr. Broody. I'll bite. What's eating at you?"

"The puppet, Blades. Know anything about puppets?"

"Child's Play."

"Not the movie, you ding-dong. I mean history or symbolism or something to do with an optic in the middle of the forehead."

Surprise silenced the smart-ass Protectobot and he stood still a moment. Streets paused when he realized Blades had stopped walking and turned back to his friend.

"Well, we could go to that Japanese theater down town. They have a puppet and mannequin museum there."

Streets snapped his fingers. "Good idea!"

The area between First Avenue and Galaxy Way was known as the district of Little Tokyo, a spectacular set up of Japanese buildings and plant life. It would be considered a tourist trap if former city mayor Randy Callman had anything to do with it. But present Mayor Spritlin insisted Little Tokyo should be more of a memorial to the late Dr. Fugiama. In the center of Little Tokyo, in a park full of fountains and fantastic sculptures lay the finest piece of modern art ever assembled by the Human Race: a ninja robot named Nightbird. Completely deactivated, and all its components and experimental data removed for research, the shell laid in a transparent titanium casket with a plaque that read: "One Love for Megatron".

It was something Optimus Prime had requested and had been debated ever since. The Autobot leader would never give his reasons for the (idiotic?) plaque, but those who respected Optimus for who and what he was, defended his decision well enough to keep Nightbird and the plaque on display in Little Tokyo. And over fifty years later, there Nightbird lay through sun and snow, through the Autobot/Decepticon battles that raged until the final battle of 2012.

Blades actually liked Little Tokyo. He liked little else about Central City. He didn't like the traffic. He didn't like the lay out (too many hills) and he didn't like the flight regulations (very restrictive). But he enjoyed this part of town where the buildings were more an architectural wonder. He wondered often if Cybertron once had gorgeous buildings such as these.

He followed Streets up Akira Avenue and right on A-ko Blvd. There a huge building squatted across the street. From its sweeping rooftop dangled delicate wind chimes and a black-and-green mural displayed the face of an actor gazing toward the north end of town.

The two Autobots entered and signed a petition of donations which would be handled by Fort Max's accounting department later. They ducked through a doorway and into the first room. There seven huge colorful costumes and masks stood promptly in front of painted scenes.

Blades turned to his companion. "What are we looking for again?"

"Something that might resemble that puppet at the bomb sight. We're looking for some kind of meaning to the eyes and the smile."

"It might mean nothing, Streets. Besides, what if the terrorist is alien? Japanese culture couldn't possibly offer an answer to an alien riddle."

Streets finally looked to his friend. "Blades, I know this sounds weird to you, but have you ever heard of cross-culture?"

"No."

"It's a term used when historians and archeologists find similarities between two totally different peoples. The Aztecs, for example, had a good deal many things similar to Egyptians. But their cultures existed in two different parts of the world and at different time periods. That's why we're here. Perhaps we can find an answer by using a culture that has a similar way of thinking."

A curator came to them, dressed in a traditional Japanese costume. She bowed and the Autobots returned the favor.

"Here." She called kindly. "What assistance can I?"

Streets knelt politely. "I'm investigating a bombing. There was a fake bomb found before the real one blew to pieces and I need to find out why the puppet was made the way it was made. It was hand-crafted and stood about ten inches high. It had two really large eyeballs that sorta looked like they were in shock and a third eye in the forehead was painted on. And it had a really freaky smile. I was wondering if we might find something similar here."

"Three eyes?" The curator tilted her head, her white face shadowed on one side from the awkward lighting in the room. "A smile . . . wicked?"

"Kinda." Streets answered. "Yeah."

She turned smartly about. "Come."

They followed her into a longer room. Red and yellow lights trimmed the corners on either side and along the walls, a combination of tapestry and murals stood behind masks and other costumes and three large marionettes. They exited that room through a door and down a hallway decked with paintings and wall sculptures trailed in front and behind them. She led them right and into another room, this one wider with several stands and shelves. In the center stood a great statue made of wicker. It had two huge bulbous eyes and a beak like that of an insect's. It had four arms made of polished cherrywood and a grass skirt.

Blades didn't like it at all because it was his exact height and it stared right at him. "What is this ugly thing?" He rudely asked.

Streets gave him a dirty look, but was ignored.

"Rrogoche."

"Bless you." Blades joked.

"Knock it off, Blades." Streets snapped.

"It is an ancient god of war. Condemned because he/she ate his own children."

Blades gave it a look of disgust and backed away. Streetwise wondered why he brought Blades if the idiot was going to be rude. The Protectobot detective helped himself to circling the room, glancing at costumes and porcelain masks and carefully crafted marionettes and puppets that were defiantly far older than he and Blades. He took note how some of the masks had small, regular eyes, other had large bulbous eyes that stared right at you. He pointed to one such puppet and the curator padded over. "What's with the large eyes?"

"This sees many things with many eyes. The large says many."

"Oh, then it has nothing to do with size, but a representation of many people who see the same things."

"Yes."

"But it has no mouth."

….."It does not need to speak. Here it is telling the tale of a watcher. This puppet only watches."

"Spies?"

"Spies." She confirmed. "But it says naught because here it watches others and waits for opportunity."

Streets' optics narrowed. "What opportunity?"

She shrugged. "It waits. They wait for whatever may come."

Streets brushed his hand over the center of his helm. "The third eye? Do you have anything about the third eye?"

Hotspot signaled him just then and Streets moaned, hating to be interrupted. "Yeah, I read ya', Spots."

"You and Blades are needed out at the park on Gateway and First Avenue."

Streets glanced at Blades who was listening and staring at the Rrogoche statue. "Why?" Blades asked innocently. "Whatsamatter?"

"Just get here. We'll talk then." and the communiqué ended.

Streets frowned and knelt politely in front of the curator. "Thank you for your help. I might return later."

She bowed respectfully. "You are most welcome, Mister Autobotosan. But you did not ask about the smile."

"Well, the eyes I think are answer enough."

"Watch for the smile, Autobotosan. If it happens again, you might be in danger."

"Why?"

She pointed to the huge four-armed statue of Rrogoche. "The smile is a waking demon."

Blades smirked. "That's alright, sister. We don't believe in demons, anyway. Come on, Streets. I've seen enough toys for today."

Streetwise followed his idiot gestalt brother towards the exit. He gave the curator one last glance and she gave him another respectful bow.

The address Hotspot gave them led to an office complex about three city blocks from the puppet museum. Groove and First Aid met them and Streets noticed the police set up barricades and communication stations. Some lady vehemently argued with a tall lanky fellow and she constantly pointed a cross finger at Groove.

Hotspot made his way to Blades and Streets and shook his head. "They've been at it for fifteen minutes."

"What's going on, Spots?" Blades asked quietly. "What's the fuss all about?"

"The lady is the director of Human resources. The man is the branch manger for the metropolitan police. He wants Groove to investigate the bomb. She says it'll put someone else with better understanding on Humanity out of work."

Blades and Streets stared at him in disgust. "What?" They chorused.

"This is hardly the time to argue about something like that!" Blades boomed. "I mean, there's a bomb threat, and she's worried that someone won't get paid?"

Streets glanced around and wondered why they were there at all. If it was a Human's problem, they shouldn't even be fussing over it, really. But Optimus expected the Autobots to give their Human companions all the help they would need.

Streets shook his head and turned to find someplace to relax until someone called him. He about turned from the two shouting Humans when his optics discovered graffiti written in the shape of a smile. He stared at it and before he realized it, the Protectobot inched right for it.

Yes! That was right! Someone had cleverly used the side of a shanty, abandoned and condemned apartment building opposite the office complex to leave a message! It had two circular windows on which a black circle was painted in the centers. Between them stretched a large 'V' shape.

"I got the bomb!" Someone declared as he walked carefully outside. "I got it! I think it's a fake! I cut the wires and nothing happ-"

And when it was least anticipated, the bomb blew. The noise drowned everything, echoing from building to building in a yo-yo effect. Windows shattered, the hot wind knocked people off their feet and/or unconscious. The resulting fire blew out the building in question and licked up the nearest two resident trees. They collapsed, taking three cars and five people with them.

When the initial blast and resultant winds finally subsided, people started to stir from their positions, most of those in the horizontal formation. The dead silence of shock soon faded as more and more people realized what had just happened.

The Human Resources manager moaned and slowly sat up. Blood recolored her blond hair and she sat in a rather unlady-like fashion. More and more people came to, some of them crying, others just sat there.

She stood, her balance not what it should be, especially on high heel shoes. She had to use the side of a turned-over car to steady herself.

"Is everyone okay?" She asked with a weak and shaking voice. "Is anyone okay?" She glanced about, finding most people in her periphery unresponsive. She saw the fire-enveloped trees, but did not have the mental capacity to realize she was in danger. She watched as the Protectobots started to gather those unable to walk away. And she watched as Hotspot transformed into truck mode and attend the closer of the burning trees.

Sirens wailed far in the distance. The city now alerted to their situation. A fire and rescue truck arrived first. The crew disembarked and just as they started to work, a second bomb went off. That one took the lives of the Human Resources director and the still-unconscious branch manager. The rest of the building shot up in flames and rubble.

Hotspot transformed and pointed to the surrounding area: "Protectobots!" He called, "First Aid, Blades, help the injured! Groove, block all the streets! Streetwise, help me clear the rubble!"

Streets laid two more victims against the corner wall of the building across the way. He was about to say something in regards to the graffiti on the other building's wall when the bomb had forced him flat on his face. "Hotspot!" he exclaimed from where he stood. "We gotta get everybody outta here! Forget the rubble!"

"Whatsamatter?" The former ranger scrutinized 'his boy'.

"There's gotta be another bomb someplace! We gotta get everybody outta here!"

And sure enough, the empty building he was walking away from blew twice and collapsed on itself. Right at that moment, the sirens from oncoming emergency crews shut off and the drivers and passengers all covered their faces and heads as the shock wave shattered all mirrors and glass. Two police cars and an EDC vehicle collided with each other then impacted a brick wall.

Silence.

One by one, once again, people emerged from the moment of terror. The entire apartment building had fallen in on itself. Police troops and EDC officers dashed back and forth, trying to attain some kind of order. People began to emerge from under building rubble and turned over cars. Fire sparked and ate from three directions.

Hotspot tried to put out the worst of the fires. Hotspot ordered the other bots together and they formed Defensor again, but sluggish this time as Blades had been jarred.

The gestalt managed to remove a few sizeable chunks of cement and metal, allowing emergency officials better access to the remains of the apartment building.

A black duely pickup truck trimmed in bright red arrived on the scene right close to the riot. The driver of the vehicle picked up his mic and through the truck's outer speakers blared: "I WANT EVERYONE RIGHT NOW TO STOP IN YOUR TRACKS! RIGHT NOW! DO NOT MOVE ANOTHER MUSCLE!"

The speaker continued from there: "FIRST, EVERYONE WHO IS NOT WOUNDED IS ORDERED TO EVACUATE THOSE WHO ARE. SECONDLY, ANYONE WHO IS NOT ASSISTING EMERGENCY CREWS OR EDC OFFICIALS OR COUNTY POLICE MUST LEAVE THE AREA NOW! LET'S GO, PEOPLE! WE DON'T HAVE ALL NIGHT!"

By the time Rodimus Prime arrived on the scene, Blades had lifted forty-seven people to the hospital. Central City police yellow-taped the area in a four-mile radius.

Rodimus approached newly-elected Police Chief Jax Tolomsky and waited until the mid-aged man got off his cell phone. Tolomsky turned to Rodimus and grinned, his eyes squinting away the Oregon late afternoon sun.

"Well!" The big man greeted, "Good to see a little more back up. Your 'bots over there are sure a credit t' you guys. I didn't have to tell them anything more than what I knew. Didja know between this and the bomb at the mall we have about sixty-nine dead so far? Seems that Human Resources lady and the branch manager have also taken 'extended vacations'. They were going to vote against me, but since they're not here anymore, my supporters managed to get me this job. Hell of a way to get a promotion, if you ask me."

"I'm very sorry, Chief Tolomsky." Rodimus muttered. "What can I do?"

"Dust for fingerprints."

It was a joke. Tolomsky was known for his coolness in the force, making light of any situation. Tolomsky lived for moments just like this and his level-headedness got things done.

"What about the other bomb in the mall a couple days ago?"

Tolomsky scratched his neck, his eyes still squinting as they rose to meet the towering giant's optic sensors. "Ah . . . I have my boys working on that right now, too."

"Do you need any help?"

Tolomsky shook his head. "Dust for fingerprints." He repeated.

Prime nodded and rose to his feet, signaling Hosehead to join. The Headmaster leapt over the crowd of people, landing safely in front of the police car line. They carefully stepped over the yellow tape and slowly picked their way around debris like fifty other rescue searchers.

Hosehead muttered consistently, though Rodimus knew the Headmaster wasn't talking to himself. After about a fifteen minute debate, the Headmaster turned to his leader as Roddi lifted a partition.

"Rodimus, Lug says we think we've found something; a black box. We can't seem to scan it at all. He didn't want me to touch it-"

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" Rodimus gasped. "Groove!" He called, "Tolomsky, we think we might have found a present!"

Cops couldn't get there fast enough. Rodimus and Hosehead pulled away as Streetwise, Groove and three other bomb experts poured over the area.

"Yup! It's another boom-box." Groove confirmed.

Tolomsky ordered the area cleared of all vehicles and citizens. Rodimus and Hosehead stayed to continue their search for other survivors while the bomb squad did their work. Once in a while, Rodimus would peek over his shoulder and watch as Groove conferred and debated with his Human counterparts.

Two other people climbed out of the debris with the help of Red Cross workers. Everything seemed so silent, so tense. Then:

"We got it!" A lady bomb expert claimed. The disarmed bomb was ever so carefully boxed and two experts carried it gently to the nearest police car. Rodimus and Hosehead exchanged glances. Hotspot ambled over the corpses of two walls.

"Rodimus, think there might be more?"

Roddi shook his head. "Hard to say, Hotspot." He forced a smile. "Why don'tcha call Blaster and ask him to send someone over with emergency supplies-see if anyone in EDC can get coffee for these folks? It's gonna be a long night."

Four days later, Streetwise carefully pondered over the bomb incidents. He made his way en route to the VR playground to replace Freeway and Override. It was an early Wednesday afternoon and there were no children to patrol. A few college kids and a couple of adults and a mother with two young children were all that came and left the entrance. Override gave up his post with a couple of grunts and a growl. Freeway shook his head at Streets, indicating his post with Override had not been a fun one. Override was not happy playing babysitter.

Really, Streets didn't blame him. Nothing was worse than sitting in a parking lot all day, waiting for something to happen. But Virtual World Recreation Park was paying Fort Max a good sum of credits for that babysitting job.

Streets poured over the events of the past few days regarding the bombs and the unprovoked attack on Springer. Perhaps they weren't related at all. They really couldn't be, unless the graffiti on the school wall matched the graffiti on the apartment building just before it was blown to atoms. But Streets was not authorized to look at the photos from the school walls. He was just an outside detective. Kinda like Murder, she Wrote's Mrs. Fletcher, he thought with an inward laugh.

On the other hand, there was no graffiti at the mall. Well, one could count the threat-note in the female's 'powder room'. But it didn't fit the pattern.

And that thought led Streets right back to the puppet. It freaked him and he could not figure out why. There was just something about it that gave him the surges.

Unfortunately for Streets, the Humans wouldn't let him or Groove anywhere near the two recovered bombs. He was dying for a good look to compare them to the casing found at Cascade Mall.

Streets and Groove had the following day off. Groove talked his gestalt brother into a quiet game of pool. If 'quiet' was the right word. There really was nothing quiet about Groove, except when he's concentrating on a new antic. He waited until Streets took his turn, taking note where the strike rolled then he measured the distance between the striking ball and the stripped Number Five.

"It's an easy piece of prey!" He sang. "I'll pocket this puppy and then you can fall on your knees and kiss my hand units."

"Stuff it." Streets grumped.

"What? My hands are clean." Groove intentionally missed the remark. "You, uh, you been thinking 'bout those bombing incidents in yer head, there, Streets?"

"What of them?"

"Well, didja consider the two we found were in black boxes?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, don't airplanes have black boxes?"

"Your point being . . .?

"I don't think those bombs were gonna go off at all. I think somebody wanted us to find them."

"Why?"

The demolitionist shrugged. "A surprise party." Groove slid his pool stick in subspace and leapt on the hanging light. He dangled upside down like a bat and folded his arms. "I'm gonna be a bat when I git reconstructed."

"Not if I make you into a pencil sharpener first." Streets frowned.

"Geeze. What's eating at you?"

Streets sighed and set his pole down a moment. "Groove, we don't have enough evidence. Even with the puppet, the bombs, the clothes. We don't know if we're dealing with a Human or an alien." Streets took his shot and missed. Groove watched, still hanging upside down while the strike ball rolled right toward him. Then he produced his pole.

"Y'know, I'm just wondering if they're, like, baiting us somehow."

"How's that?"

"Well, nobody's come clean and said who they are yet. If you were a special-interest group of sorts and wanted to make a statement, wouldn't you wanna make your statement 'n call up a TV station an' make that claim? Wouldn't you make the threat to do it again if certain demands weren't met?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Well, think a' this, Streets: Nobody's called. Nobody's made no threats. That's gotta mean they're doin' this for somethin' other than political stuff, right?"

Streets stared at him, very much puzzled. He raised his pole while Groove made his shot then set it down again when Groove's shot took out three balls. The Protectobot motorcycle took his second turn and pocketed two other strikes before their interpersonal comlinks bleeped.

Optimus wanted them in the office ASAP.

Optimus was staring out his huge picture window when the two Protectobots entered. The window revealed a partly-cloudy spring afternoon, casting shadows over some buildings, leaving the sun on others. Optimus turned to them then glanced left where Chief Tolomsky stood, a large box sat in front of him.

"Streetwise, Groove, I'm sure the two of you remember Chief Tolomsky."

"Yes." Streetwise nodded. "Hi."

"Hey." Tolomsky greeted with ease. "Your boss here tells me you're pretty good with weird things, a private dick, of sorts." Tolomsky stared at the Autobot who simply stared back, not at all catching the light joke. He cleared his throat. "Uh, this . . . well, lemme back up here. Somebody found two bodies swinging from the rafters of a warehouse on 'C' street yesterday morning. Not so much as a drop of blood could be found in their veins. Pretty ugly. Anyhow, we found their stuff stashed away in a dumpster. Thought I'd bring it all here, have you take a gander at it." And Tolomsky kicked the box toward the two Autobots.

Streets knelt on one knee and opened the cardboard box as though it were a bomb. Groove leaned over Street's shoulder and the Protectobot detective could feel Groove making faces at him behind his back.

Streets carefully pulled up a light blue work shirt. The name "Bob" embroidered the left pocket and proudly displayed the business name. A set of dark slacks came with it and when he picked up the pants, Streets could hear the jingle of coins. He frowned. There was a wallet in the back pocket and a pair of shoes tucked in the corner of the box. "Seems the owner of these clothes worked at a car repair shop. But I doubt he was a grease monkey. He probably took part orders or used scanners a lot."

"And how do you know that?" Tolomsky asked deadpan.

"He has a pocket protector in his shirt, indicating he uses cheap pens and goes through them frequently. There's also a scanner adapter in his right pant pocket." Streets handed the shirt and shoes to Groove who finally became serious enough to find interest in what his brother was doing. Streets opened the wallet and leafed through it, finding pictures of children and two adult women. A library card and three credit cards, a driver's licence and forty-two dollars were also stashed inside the well-worn wallet. Streets shook his head. "This is unbelievable. The culprits take these people, kill them ritualistically, but don't bother to take their money or their jewelry. Why?"

Nobody could answer him. Streets glanced at Groove who merely shrugged then eyed the box, scrutinizing the other set of clothes. Streets plucked up a blouse, taking note it had tears and blood stains on the front and a little on the right shoulder.

"Looks like the lady-owner put up a struggle here. She might have known who took her, or they didn't surprise her well enough. Chief, did you have this blood analyzed?"

"It's not hers. Seems she took a chunk out of her kidnapper-the gals downtown found saliva on the blouse."

Groove tried not to laugh. "She bit her attacker?"

"Seems like it," Tolomsky confirmed, "Yeah."

Streets shook his head. "I just don't get it. Why not collect the valuables? Why leave them?"

"I dunno." Tolomsky grunted. "Less, of course, the perpetrators weren't after nothing in particular. But, why gut some poor joe shmoe like that? Why a man and a woman, why not two men? Or two women?" He shook his head. "I've got half my department on the case."

Streets shook his head. "There's not enough to go on, though, Chief. No prints, not in the park, not on the bodies."

Tolomsky frowned. "Well, I was sorta hoping you might find or see something my boys hadn't seen yet."

"Oh." Streets suddenly felt disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry, Chief. I haven't taken the time to check out the crime scenes since the incidents at the mall and the elementary school. If I had more time, I might be able to take a closer look. Blades and I went to a Japanese puppet museum yesterday and found similarities between some ancient puppets and the jack-in-the-box at the mall. I need a closer look, but I really don't have the authority or the permission."

Tolomsky stared at Streets, then at Groove who studied the dead woman's purse, turning it upside down and spilt some of the contents. The chief's celphone bleeped. "Well, I gotta head back to the office. If something comes to mind, you boys wouldn't mind letting me know, would you?"

"We'll give you a call." Streets promised.

Tolomsky took the box and left, the two Protectobots stared after him. Streetwise turned to a silent, sullen Optimus Prime. "Well, I guess that's it, huh, Optimus?"

Prime sat in his chair, crossing one arm over the other on his desk. "Would you like to have this assignment?" He asked quietly.

Groove perked up, a smile lighted his face. "It'd be kinda cool, Boss. Really."

Streetwise nodded. "We'd be really glad to do something other than babysit the VR playgrounds."

"Very well." Optimus stood and under a large pile of digipads, he pulled together a stack of eight. "This is what the police department and EDC have put together so far. Names of victims, their families, some of the deceased and the areas that have been hit."

Streets took the tablets with a slight smile. Homework.

Optimus sat back in his chair. "I knew I could count on the two of you."

Streets smiled a little more broadly. "Thanks, Optimus."

But Optimus merely glanced at him before mutely grabbing a digipad and endorsing his name. It was a sign that he needed to get back to work. The two silently departed and Max closed the doors after them.

Optimus watched them leave, his hand tapped the digipad with a pointer. He had been unable to concentrate all day. A dull pulsation refused to wear itself out and he tried to defrag several times to no effect. All the reports and files and issues had lost their importance. He resigned to staring off into space for long moments at a time, wondering where his attention had flown. He'd been moody before, his behavior effecting everyone around him. He was sorry, knowing how sometimes he passed Autobots in the hall without hearing their hellos, making them feel he just wasn't interested in being friendly.

It was unintentional behavior. Optimus wasn't gloomy all the time. He did take time off to enjoy himself, to escape the workload. But strangely of late he had forgotten to do it. His optics drifted to a lonely corner in his office where a little girl used to sit by the hour and draw, read or color, contented just to be there.

He hadn't seen her in three weeks and missed her terribly. Perhaps that's what was wrong. Perhaps a part of him had disappeared altogether. When was the last time he sat at his desk, smiling to himself as he listened to the Saturday morning cartoons? When was the last time he played a guessing game? How about the little Sunday excursions? Whatever was bothering him had affected his down-time too. He had a terrible dream the other night; a memory, really. Not his memory, but something the

Matrix remembered; the Unmentionable One. Millions of years ago, an Autobot leader murdered thousands of Autobots in single sweeps, gaining their trust and even the Matrix was tricked, unaware of what was happening until after it happened.

Prime broke from his moment of sadness and picked up a digipad. But he tossed it back into the pile. He just couldn't concentrate. His door chimed.

"Enter." He answered.

Rodimus stepped through with another digipad. Prime eyed it wearily. "Well, we seem to have a problem with inventory in hanger 216." His voice sounded so light, so unaffected by sadness. Rodimus set the digipad on the desktop.

Silence. Prime finally looked away from Rodimus and took up the pad. "What's missing?" He quietly asked.

"Twenty-seven cases of Pleiades Semi-solar .19 rifles. Forty boxes of ammo and two cases of Dandelion rocket launchers." Rodimus answered. "Kup is still examining the evidence."

Prime tossed the pad back on the desk. He was tired and really didn't want to deal with anything at the moment. "What? Have you looked into it?"

"Yeah. But there seems to be no trace of it, except in the paperwork. Someone knew what they were doing, because it's been accounted for right up to the moment physical inventory was done."

"An inside job?"

"Most likely. I've been up all night with Kup trying to find the trail, but it goes so far and then nothing. We found empty crates."

Optimus shook his head then stared away, pretending to be thinking.

But he didn't fool Rodimus. The Second turned to leave then changed his mind and twisted back around. "What's wrong?" He asked directly, closing the door.

Optimus only shook his head. He wasn't going to just come out and say. But he wasn't about to lie, either. He leaned against his desk, steepling his fingers. "I received word this morning there was a riot in New York in front of Metroplex. Highrise tells me he's been trying to negotiate with the Humanity First Coalition, trying to explain to them why we as a species are inhabiting their planet. It's not going well."

Rodimus stared at him, stunned. "I hadn't heard of this. When did this take place?"

Prime leaned forward, concern burdened his expression. "The rioters attacked the city at four-thirty this morning. They damaged part of the main bridge and injured three civilians." He fell quiet for a moment, gazing right to a series of built-in book cases and three file cabinets. "I-I think I made a mistake, Rodimus. I asked Arcee to handle the details from here, to keep in constant communication between us and Metroplex."

"Why would it be a mistake?" Rodimus couldn't believe Optimus hadn't discussed this with him earlier. He was a little upset over it, but knew how preoccupied they had been of late. Optimus was working hard on attaining permits and contracts for a new fortress city. This business between New York and now the bombings in Central City threaten to interrupt his work.

"I don't know how Daniel would take to this assignment. I know he already bears a grudge against us. I know he's bitter about his position as a person, as a Human. As you know, in the past we've tried to come up with an exo-skeleton which would allow Daniel more freedom of choice. But-"

"He doesn't want to give up Arcee." Roddi finished.

"Right." Optimus's whole countenance fell dark. "I want to do something, Rodimus. But until Arcee decides she wants help, there's nothing we can do."

The two of them fell quiet a moment, one waiting for the other to say something. Rodimus finally broke the silence. "You miss her, don't you?"

Optimus gazed at him. Roddi didn't need to say who. "Roddi, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to invite Rusti to stay a weekend with us. Is there a way we could . . . logically find a reason for her visitation?"

Rodimus allowed himself a small smile. Optimus was such a tightwad when it came to talking. He had to pry everything out of the senior Prime. Optimus kept his personal thoughts and feelings almost completely to himself. A wall stood between he and everyone else but this little tiny suggestion gave everything away. After not seeing her for three weeks, he missed their little lady-friend terribly. Roddi thought it cute the way Optimus phrased it. She was very therapeutic, he admitted to himself. He took back his digipad and snatched two others. Rodimus would just give Magnus something more to do. "I'll cook something up." He promised.

Prime watched his Second retreat. He removed himself from his desk and peered out the window, staring across Fort Max's second level. A roadway stretched past his office not far from the command center. Beyond that stood about five or six other buildings and beyond them the Cascade mountains rose in all their glory. Optimus didn't even know what the weather had been like lately.

Perhaps it was time to leave the office for a while; even if it was just by himself.


	2. Chapter 2

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 2

The sweet spring air begged Rusti to come to the woods and play. Not far from where she lived, there stood a little grove leading to the outskirts of Central City's Southwestern region. The grove's thick pine trees served to protect a wonderful secret: an ancient oak, long forgotten by time. About it stood several younger white oaks and the remains of an abandoned fort. It was rare to find a tree in the Cascades that was anything but pine or fir. This old tree, far larger than all the other trees, provided branches low enough for Rusti to climb or dangle like a monkey. She stretched her arms, knowing her top was slowly sliding up (down?). She shook her head, her curly red hair bounced with every move. Her sea-grey eyes caught the world in an upside down picture. The girl giggled as cars passed not far from where she played. She imagined the drivers were catching glances between the trees in the grove, eyeing a hyper nine year-old who was playing hooky from school.

Three weeks of pure torment. School was such a drag, home wasn't much better. Everybody was always so serious. She missed the Dino-dingbats. She missed Roddi teasing her with his ridiculous ideas or softly singing her to sleep. She missed Optimus and the private times they shared-the Sunday drives and the silent games.

She climbed higher to get a really great view of the area. There was one branch in the tree that, while unstable, was strong enough to support her as she peeked northward, downhill and across Central City. It was a great view.

Rusti didn't like Central City as much as Fort Max. Central City was flat and suffered from too much traffic. She used to live at Fort Max until she hit school age. Then as the years progressed, she was not permitted to stay quite as often even during the summer. But she went 'Home' on the weekends and for that time, it was sufficient. Her parents tried to wean her of living with the Autobots. Each time, however, she became ill, suffering from headaches, bleeding noses, nausea . . . it all drove her mom nuts. Aunt Delphra, the family 'naturalist' (Whatever that meant), insisted something must have contaminated the girl from birth, suggesting Rusti might have had been tampered with somehow.

Her theories were 'pure drivel' as Optimus would say.

The girl cherry-dropped from a lower branches and pulled her blouse down. Sometimes she'd tear her clothes and her mom would mutter something about little girls and EDC armor. Rusti ignored it, her own mind always on other things; pictures to draw or what she'd and Optimus would talk about on the way Home on Friday nights.

The girl swept up her back pack and made her way through the thicket to a great precipice overlooking the city from an even better view than the unsteady tree branches. The early April sun began to kiss the western horizon, thereby casting magnificent cold shadows over the city. Central City was huge, now one of Oregon's principal cities. Years ago, the Autobots built a great docking platform in Fort Max inviting space-faring travelers to come to Earth and exchanged trade agreements or cultures. The Human society embraced the new Space Age and forever changed the little-known city into an intergalactic metropolis. Central City now proudly bore its scars from the Autobot-Decepticon wars of the twentieth century.

Rusti sat on the ledge overlooking the city. From her backpack, she produced a well-used drawing pad and a small box of pencils. Sitting cross-legged, Rusti stared over the horizon and swiftly sketched the topmost buildings of the cityscape. She added the looming mountains behind them then many of the smaller buildings. It wasn't the prettiest picture, but at least she was drawing something. She compared the drawing to the landscape. Rusti frowned, finding her attempt a far cry from the real thing. Drawing was so frustrating. Just when she thought it looked good, Rusti later found it not good at all.

"Just do it because you enjoy it." Optimus once told her. "You'll improve as you work at it."

It was true. She found the more drawing she did, the better her work became. She didn't draw stick figures like many of her peers. She had even learned how to shade a little. People were really hard to draw and she couldn't do hands or feet. She traced a lot and colored in, rather proud that at least it looked better than if she had drawn it free-hand. Rusti supposed someday she'd be really good at drawing. She also liked to paint, but it was harder to paint than to draw.

Rusti gave her drawing a little more detail; the clouds in the sky, the mountain standing in the north-western part of Central City where the VR Park resided. She thought about trying to draw the Ribbon Passway, but she had run out of space at the bottom of the paper and decided to leave it out.

As she thought before, the real thing looked a great deal better than her attempt. Rusti shrugged and put her drawing materials away and zipped up her backpack. She just sat there for a few moments, watching the sun aim for the mountains.

She missed Optimus and Roddi. Sometimes the loneliness was a little too much. Rusti had no close friends her age. She knew a lot of people, but she didn't enjoy doing a lot of the things they did. Many kids knew she had connections to the Autobots and they'd always ask her about Cybertron. But Rusti had never been to Cybertron. Her parents had been to Cybertron many times. Dezi, her sister, had been there once when she was little.

Many of Rusti's peers had interests that didn't interest her at all and it was hard to relate to them.

I miss you. she mentally Whispered to one or the other Autobot leaders.

Sometimes she would get a verbal reply. Other times, like right now, Rusti received a mental picture or sensation to let her know she had been Heard by one or both the Autobot leaders, but both of them were too busy to really talk. As long as she could remember, the girl had an unusual relationship to the two leaders. Cynyr, the resident senior doctor at Fort Max, could not explain the connection. As far as they could tell, it wasn't in her genes; her Grandfather Spike Witwicky did not have ESP or telepathic abilities. Neither did anyone on her mother's side of the family.

Rusti stood, knowing she would have to turn home now and face her mother. Today was actually the first day of beautiful spring weather and rather than waste it on a boring class, listening to a teacher drone on in monotone, Rusti decided to take the day off. She knew her parents weren't going to be very happy about it.

As she lifted her back pack, she noted a strange red fog fell over the city streets below. She kept watching, fearful and fascinated as it descended like a heavy mist, drawn to the warm ground. Then it sunk in and disappeared. She thought hard, wondering if it was just a trick of light and atmospheric optical aberrations.

An alien craft came in from the southwest, aiming toward the IG building, distracting her for the moment. Its rectangular shape sucked in all light, the negative spaces between its body and the wings gave it a more web-like design. Rusti thought it a bit on the creepy side.

Three EDC ships followed as the spacecraft zoomed toward Central City. Their white and light-blue design reflected the sunlight and Rusti swore she caught the sight of an Autobot symbol on one of them. That would be Aunt Missy's ship.

Rusti smiled. Marissa Fairborn wasn't her real aunt. But the EDC captain had been a friend of the family's for such a long time that the kids all knew her as Aunt Missy. And Rusti knew Marissa cherished the title. The captain never married herself, loving a career in the sky more than a house on the ground.

"Young lady, where the devil have you been?" They were words Rusti already anticipated hearing from her mother and true to form, Netty snarled as the nine year-old red head stepped through the door. Rusti was swatted twice as she made her way to her room, but she didn't cry. She knew what was coming. What was going to be worse was when her father would come home.

A little later, Rusti moved out of her room and into the kitchen, figuring her mother would want her out where she could be watched. Netty journeyed from one bedroom to the next picking up dirty laundry and adding it to a growing pile. Netty had a job as a medical receptionist. She didn't have to work; Daniel brought in more than enough money. But Netty didn't like to just stay home. Right now, she had the day off and went about the business of house keeping.

The front door opened and closed and Aunt Delphra stepped in. Rusti considered the woman akin to the White Witch. She wore a set of killer nine-inch spiked high-heeled shoes, accompanied by dark hair, cropped straight and neatly about neck with straight bangs covering her flat forehead. Delphra used a set of dark eyes to pierce through everyone, scrutinizing even the vaguest of details.

Delphra had to be the reincarnation of the White Witch; she was too good at it. That thought swept a smile across Rusti's face and she was hard put to suppress it as her aunt stepped into the kitchen where she was quietly coloring.

"Hello, Darling." Delphra greeted a bit coldly as she set a tiny purse on the table and smoothed her black mini skirt. "Is your mother in the wash room?"

"I think so."

"Good." She paused and accusingly pointed the color book with a set of long blood-red finger nails. "What are you coloring?" The tone meant it had better be something non-violent and educational.

Rusti withdrew her hands to show 'auntie' the Precious Moments page. Delphra nodded approving but her face remained stone-cold. Netty stepped into the kitchen from the garage, bearing a basket load of dried clothes. Rusti was grateful her mom came in before Delphra decided to entertain herself by asking the girl a string of questions.

"Hey, Sis." Netty greeted. "Whatcha up to?"

"Just got off work early. Didja hear? There was a bomb threat in the Mall."

"Ohmigod." Netty set the basket before the couch and began to fold her laundry. Rusti listened in, turning the page and colored another (dumb) 'safe' picture in the 'safe' color book.

Delphra remained silent a moment then: "What's the Kiddie doing home?"

"Oh, she's grounded."

"From school?"

"Nope. She didn't go to school today."

Rusti could feel her aunt's dark eyes stab her but pretended not to notice anything but the book. Nothing existed outside the book.

"Oh." Delphra's voice turned poisonous. "And how did she manage that little trick?"

Netty sighed either in weariness or frustration.

The room fell disturbingly silent for a very long moment. Rusti was hard-put not to turn and look; not to see what the two women were up to. She used a light blue crayon. Then she picked up a pink, then an orange, then a black.

"I . . . I got a letter back from Alec today."

Netty snapped a towel in the air and folded it. "Wow. That was fast. Is he going to allow you visitation rights yet?"

"No. He's still sore." Delphra sighed. "Netty, I know I made a mistake, okay? But dammit, how about a little leeway, here?"

"I know Hon, I know."

"No, seriously. They're as much my kids as they are his. I make one mistake and . . . I'm punished for the rest of my life? Where's the fairness in that?"

"Well . . . " Netty sighed. "I don't know. I don't know what to say."

"I miss my boys. I really do."

"Well . . . maybe in a few more months he might let you around them."

"Oh, come on, Netty! He's being a jerk about it, okay?"

Rusti's mom didn't answer. Rusti knew what it was; the same old story: Delphra's ex-husband was the owner of a very large trucking firm. While he was away on business, she brought a strange man into their house. Then they took off for California leaving Rusti's cousins, Stephen and Dallas, alone for three weeks.

The court judged Delphra unfit as a parent, awarding her husband full custody of both boys and denying her any visitation rights. Which, the girl supposed, explains why Delphra seemed so obsessed over Rusti and her siblings.

The house fell disturbingly silent again. Rusti wondered if they were staring at her and whispering. She dared a careful glance through the corner of her eye. The two adults simply sat on the couch, staring off. Netty folded a washcloth then hauled up one of Rusti's blouses. Then a pair of her jeans. Then one of Dezi's tank tops. Then a pair of Brian's underwear.

"What are we doing sitting here?" Delphra suddenly came to life and jumped to her feet. (And momentarily, the girl wondered if that odd woman could possibly run in those shoes) Delphra activated the TV and stepped back, folding her long arms across her stomach. Rusti stared at her aunt again. The woman really did look like the White Witch; long limbs and a flat front side.

. . . AGAIN THE BLOCKS BETWEEN FIRST AVENUE AND CASCADE MALL HAVE BEEN CLOSED. CENTRAL CITY POLICE FORCE ASKS RESIDENTS TO STAY HOME. THERE IS A REWARD LEADING TO ANY INFORMATION REGARDING

A pause of silence hung in the air and Rusti realized she had stopped coloring, sitting with a crayon in her right hand, fingering the others with her left. She felt scared and excited at the same time. It wasn't everyday they declared a bomb threat in Central City.

Aunt Delphra left a while before Daniel came home. He said few words to Netty and nothing to Rusti.

At least not yet.

Dinner was a mandatory thing in the family. Everyone had to be there. The parents called their offspring to the table and sat, waiting for the three to unfold their napkins before picking up their forks. As always, Daniel started the dinner table conversations, asking each of his children how the day went and what they did. Dezi, the family workaholic and avid bookworm, gave him the usual grunt before losing him in a sea of science equations and formulas, daring him to recall years of education he threw away for the sake of intergalactic diplomacy. Dezi was studying to be a nurse, and ultimately, a doctor. Daniel always fell silent after asking his eldest the usual nightly questions.

Then he turned to Brian, their 'wonderful' fifteen year-old son who always shrugged and said "The usual stuff, English, math, science." But even Rusti knew he was a liar. Brian probably didn't bother to go to school.

Then the conversation would turn to her and the girl would usually start out with "Fine." But tonight she couldn't say anything. Her sea-grey eyes turned to her mother.

"Little Miss Goody Two-shoes there didn't go to school today." Netty announced coldly.

Only Brian laughed.

Daniel's kick missed Rusti by inches as he targeted his idiot son under the table. Brian obviously didn't feel a thing. He silenced the outside laughter, but he kept smirking.

"And what possessed you to do something like that?" he asked his youngest, his voice filled with acid.

Of the three, Rusti spooked her parents the most. She would portray traits they never taught her, like how to think before speaking in a situation. It must have been something she picked up from the Autobot leaders because neither Dezi nor Brian ever did odd things like finger objects or pause in a moment of silence. Her folks didn't really catch on to her little acquired quirk. Rusti sipped her milk a moment, calmly setting it on the table and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. "It was pretty outside." She answered. "I didn't want to stay indoors."

"So you decided it was the best thing for your future to go and play." Daniel snarled.

"Well, no." She admitted freely. "Since I don't play on the weekends with my friends, and I don't play with my friends after school, I thought I would take a day and play by myself."

Brian howled with laughter.

Daniel eyed him with a measure of patient plotting, crossing his arms and leaning in the chair. His childhood was never this complex! Of course, he was an only child and the Autobots babysat him while his father was off saving the universe. Now he had three very strange children of his own. Before their deaths, his folks thought them all perfectly precious.

But they never knew what a pain in the ass the kids were. Dezi won't communicate with him anymore. Brian does whatever he feels like doing and Daniel wasn't about to let Resonna go down that same path. She was going to grow up to be a good, well-behaved adult, even if he had to pound it into her. His problem, however, was the influence the Autobots had on her; particularly Optimus and Rodimus Prime. They filled her little head with the strangest of notions.

Daniel sat up straight in the chair (after Netty gave him one of 'those looks') and laced his fingers. "Well then," he answered just as diplomatically as his daughter, "I guess for the remainder of the month, you won't go outside except to go to the bus to go to school. You won't see any more sunshine and fluffy clouds. How's that one suit you, smart ass?"

"Daniel!" Netty shot him a very hard look. She hated it when he cussed at the children.

But he paid her no mind. It was reality and the children were going to get what the world dished out to them.

Although Rusti was accustomed to her father's verbiage, it always hurt when he stooped to name-calling. On the other hand, 'ass' was what he called her, ass she would be. Perhaps living with the Autobots had made her arrogant because she knew that Daniel would not dare raise a hand against her past a certain point. Optimus and Rodimus were too protective of her. Unfortunately, being grounded would naturally mean she would be unable to go Home. And there she realized her mistake. However, she considered bitterly, her parents still would not have let her go Home, whether or not she was good.

Trapped at both ends. But she wasn't going to give her father the pleasure of knowing his sentence hurt her. She silently ate another nasty brussel sprout, but could not make eye contact. He had won.

For now.

Daniel stared at his nine year-old a moment longer. He anticipated some kind of remark in rebuttal or at least a whimper or begging or something that would resemble a normal nine year-old's mentality. Why couldn't he have normal children like everyone else? No, he had a son who was a trouble-maker, an eldest daughter who ate, slept and drank science books and a youngest daughter who thought she was a human version of an Autobot.

His wife took over from this point.

"Resonna, finish your dinner and do dishes." She ordered quietly.

Rusti hated that name! She hated it every time they spoke it. It was a name for someone who was less than she should be. It was a name that meant no time for play or Saturday morning cartoons. It was a name that said how well controlled her life was.

The wee dark hours of night brought shadows that permitted the creatures of darkness to emerge. That's what came to Rusti's mind when she heard a car ease in front of the Witwicky house. Three car doors slammed and in the distance, a dog alerted its owner. Voices raised and lowered outside Rusti's window and their pitches called her from sleep. She shifted in bed, hoping she could block the rude noises and go back to sleep. But after about ten hopeless minutes, she sighed in frustration and peeked out her window.

Two cars sat in front of the house facing each other. Four men and one woman stood between the cars' lights, their bodies only half visible. One person lit a cigarette and pointed at someone else.

That someone else was Brian. If Mom and Dad knew Brian was out this time of night, they'd kill him. Brian was only fifteen and Central City's 'under-age' curfew was nine-thirty. The man with the cigarette tossed it in the yard. It was a rare thing to see anyone smoke. Rusti figured the man was probably very wealthy. She watched as the 'cigarette man' reached into a coat

pocket and handed Brian something. Brian stashed it in his coat and pretended to kick a rock. The woman laid a hand on his shoulder then on another man's shoulder and the Cigarette man howled like a dog.

Rusti laughed softly, thinking him an idiot. Then after another moment of quiet conversation, the group departed and Brian aimed for the house.

The girl slipped from the window and bounced on her bed, pulling the covers over her head. She laughed inwardly. She could blackmail Brian with this! What an idiot! She lay there, softly giggling, hoping Dezi didn't hear her down the hallway.

But she swallowed air when a dark figure peeked into her room. She lay very still, hoping he didn't see her eyes. She could hear him cross her bedroom floor and a putrid smell wafted about him.

Then he was gone.

She yawned and in spite of her excitement, Rusti fell back to sleep.

The morning brought with it a searing headache. Rusti moaned the moment her eyes met the blinding sun as it peeked into her room. Her head hurt so that her vision blurred and her ears rang so loud that noise, any noise of any kind would be welcomed.

"Resonna!" Her mother sang.

Well, any noise but that.

"Get up! You're going to school!"

No she wasn't. She slowly rolled over. She wasn't moving out of bed. But the very next moment the blankets were stripped off her and her mother yanked her hard out of bed.

"You, young lady, are already cruising for a bruising!"

The world tipped one way, then the carpeted flooring of her room met her head-on. She tried to get up but found her body didn't want to do anything.

A darkness hit, powerful as though it were a living thing and she gasped. An arrow shot through her head and Rusti thought she was going to vomit blood. Then all the fuzziness left her and she found herself standing atop a great ravine made from a patchwork of metal. Whole armies of machines, large and small, great and simple, amassed far below. They praised her name. She, the Mighty One they called Prime! She gazed down at them, fruit ripe for the harvest of war. The poor fools trusted her with their very lives! She opened her chest and removed an organ from within and held it aloft for her worshipers to cheer.

She laughed and opened the Matrix and sucked all their lives into it. Ahh the power to control life-enough to make the senses reel; that makes the fuel flow faster than your heart can pound! She controlled their lives by taking them! Oh, gawd, what power!

Whatever it was that she saw and heard and felt diminished the strength from her and Rusti crumbled, laying very still upon the floor. She heard her mother shout in a panic, trying to shake the girl to her senses. But Rusti just whimpered. Darkness came to their house and touched her. Somewhere else, some place Rusti did not know, another bomb went off in the city, killing people in every direction. "A red fog rolled into the city," she thought. "And I have been touched by it."

"Migraines might be associated with stress, Mrs. Witwicky. The whole town is pretty upset over the bombing at the mall. It could be she's . . . well . . . sensitive."

"Please, don't suggest my daughter is psychic. I'm sure she's not." Netty growled coldly.

"I don't like to rule anything out, Mrs. Witwicky."

Rusti could only hear the voice. A cold compress laid over her eyes, forehead and one on her chest.

" . . . chances are it will fade by the end of the day. I just gave her a shot of ibuprofen and she should be alright. If the problem persists, just bring her in."

"What kind of problems? What do I look for?"

"Fainting, vomiting. You'll figure it out."

"Are you sure it's not a seizure?"

Pause.

"She's had a history of problems, as you said. It would be hard to just come out and say, really. I mean, there would have to be something we're missing. But it's very hard to say exactly what at this point. Has she been to Fort Max of late?"

Pause.

"No. We're . . . trying to integrate her into mainstream society now."

"Ah-ha. Well, if we can't do anything for her, I suggest you take her to Dr. Cynyr. He's had better experience in these matters."

"Thank you."

Netty's cold voice stayed flat. The front door closed and Rusti felt herself drifting above her bed. The pain wrapped itself about her head so that all she could do was lie flat. She needed noise, any noise; music, a voice, something! She tried to contact Optimus or Roddi. But she heard nothing but the terrible silence and with it, the feeling of abandonment.

"Resonna, honey, I have to go to work. I know I shouldn't leave you by yourself. But I'll be back in four hours. I'll leave the phone next to you if you need something really bad-but only if you absolutely need something. Okay?"

That wasn't what she wanted to hear. If she were Home at Fort Max, either Optimus or Rodimus would have spent the day watching her, or at least seen to it that she slept in their office. But her mom was, after all, only Human and it would not be possible for her to pick Rusti up and take her. Rusti just felt miserable and was in too much pain to complain.

The front door closed and she could hear her mom lock the house. The car door slammed shut and the engine turned over. The tires crunched over tiny pebbles in the drive way, the car shifted gears and was gone.

Rusti woke later, finding the light on in Dezi's room down the hall. Rusti slowly sat up. Her heart pounded, demanding more room than her body was willing to give. The girl tried to force air into her lungs and realized her migraine had fallen to a slow constant throb. She wasn't dizzy and her vision had cleared. But her head felt as though someone had pulled it all out of joint. She tried to rub her neck muscles, but that did her little good. Rusti slid out of bed and stumbled. She

grabbed the bed post and waited. She took one step, grasping the door frame, took another step and before too long, she made it to the kitchen. Her movements were slow, deliberate. She almost had to tell herself every little thing she needed to do; go to the cupboard, open it. Reach up, take a glass. Close the door. Step sideways to the sink, turn the faucet to the right. Set the glass under it and let it fill.

Her ears picked up footsteps behind and Rusti told herself to turn the faucet off.

"Res?" Dezi's voice filled the silent and dark kitchen. "Are you okay?"

Rusti stared at her with glassy, dry eyes. Dezi laid a hand alongside her face and frowned. "Mom said to give you some aspirin if you woke up. Are you hungry?"

She met her sister's gaze and gave her a wry smile.

"Should be something soft, hu? Soup sound good?"

Rusti just felt too hot for something hot.

"Cream of Wheat?" Dezi offered instead.

She couldn't nod yes, fearful it'd make her dizzy again. She smiled instead.

"Okay. Cream of Wheat."

Dezi served her Cream of Wheat with a small banana and Rusti sat on Dezi's bed while her big sister did homework. They could just barely hear Rusti's clock radio echo through the silence of the room. Dezi worked fervently on her chemistry, moving from book to paper and back as though it came natural to her. Dezi was the smart one of the family, just a junior in high school, but already offered places in six different universities. Even Aunt Delphra promised to help her through school. Dezi loved science. She ate, drank and breathed it. It was her thesis on universal life forces that got her the first scholarship EDC ever gave to a high school student. She was the pride of the family.

Rusti sighed and wondered why her parents compared her to her sister so much. She and Dezi were so different; as though they had two different fathers. Dezi's mind was solely on her work. Rusti's head wandered. Her curiosity leaned more toward coloring and drawing and just goofing off. She didn't have any idea what she wanted to be. At least not yet.

After half an hour, Dezi sighed and wiped a strand of hair from her face. She had long red-brown hair that lay limp over her average frame. One couldn't say Dezi was particularly 'pretty', but well-put together. She had a lot of their Grandpa Spike's attributes.

The front door slammed shut and someone sniggered followed by a shushing sound. Dezi sighed irritably and slammed her pen down.

"Forget it, Brian!" She sang toward the doorway. "Your Neanderthal friend gave you totally away."

Brian, a stick-figure of a teenager, appeared in the door and leaned against the frame. A pair of dark glasses concealed his eyes. His light brown hair clung to his head, his clothes had been slept in and his general appearance needed washing. "Moi?" He grinned widely. "Did you call the name of the Almighty?"

A friend sniggered behind him. Rusti clutched a nearby pillow. There was going to be a fight. Not the first, of course; Dezi had scars she had never shown her folks.

Dezi kept her temper; "If I did, it was to pray for your soul. You were supposed to be home four hours ago."

"Oh, and I'm sure you've been keeping track, hu, Dez?"

"What? Are you as stupid as you look right now?"

He didn't answer her. He nodded toward Rusti. "Hey, Kiddo. How's the day been? Missed school again?" In two large steps he was in Dezi's room and sitting on the edge of her bed. Rusti was grateful she was at the other end. "You're good at faking it, aren't ya?" He asked. "Or did the powder work wonders for you?"

His friend cackled in laughter, bending over in a fit of lunacy. Dezi jumped out of her chair. "What?" She cried. "Brian . . . oh gawd, you didn't poison her with that crap, did you?"

His grin froze on his face, just staring right through his little sister.

"Goddamnit, Brian! You could have killed her!"

"I was careful." Brian sang smoothly. He stood and leaned over but Dezi blocked him from moving closer to their little sister.

"Brian, you take one more step toward her and I sa-w-ear to God I will personally see to it that you never propagate the species."

Brian stood and studied his big sister's face. He stepped back to his friend and turned to leave.

"Oh, Dezi, just ta let you know; Bax's gonna stay the night."

Dezi turned away, murder on her face. "Res, go in your room and get your pillow. You're staying the night here."

Brian took that personally. "She can stay in her room. I won't do nothin'. Geeze, Dez, what's a matter with you, anyway?"

"I am not talking to you, Brian. I was talking to Resonna." her voice came tight, controlled. Her fists bunched, her arms swung just slightly. She was ready to give him a fight if he so desired. Brian backed away, holding his hands in the air as though to ward her off. He wasn't going to pick a fight tonight.

Rusti slowly slid off the bed and padded to her room, feeling the stares of the two boys on her back. She returned a minute later, finding the boys had disappeared into Brian's room upstairs. Dezi made a place for Rusti next to the wall on the bed and tucked her in. Rusti lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wishing Roddi were there to sing her to sleep.

After several tense silent moments, Dezi returned to her homework. But Rusti didn't feel so secure. She sighed loudly wishing Dezi would turn music on or something. The little girl sighed again. "Dezi?"

"Hmm."

"When 'r Mom and Dad supposed to be back?"

Pause. Dezi finished a calculation then looked up. "Not until late, Res. You know how those stupid ambassadorial parties and meetings go one forever. Don't worry. I won't let Brian pull any stunts tonight. Go to sleep."

Rusti frowned and rolled to her side, hearing Dezi call Brian a testicleless bastard under her breath.


	3. Chapter 3

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 3

Learning came easy to Rusti. She could memorize things and recall them at a much later time. But she admitted that her head tended to wander. And while she enjoyed some subjects in school, Rusti preferred to do things other than study.

But in the past four days, spelling words she had practiced ran away from her at the end of the week. Vocabulary wouldn't stick. Mathematic concepts laughed at her feeble attempts to recall everything she was taught in class and when she'd do her homework, her mind would draw a blank. At first, Rusti thought she wasn't concentrating in class well enough and began taking extra notes. She asked more questions and even used the computer at home to help her remember. She'd relearn and still forget.

Finally all concentration abandoned her and all her efforts to chase her homework through the pages of school books jumbled in her head. Rusti didn't know what to do. And when she turned to her favorite teacher, he accused her of just not concentrating well enough.

But that wasn't the problem.

And then the old headache hit. No amount of aspirin or number of cold compresses would relieve the drilling pain. It did her no good to tell her folks about it. They didn't want to hear that she was 'having problems again'(stemming from all the problems she had as a baby). Defeated, Rusti chose to suffer in silence.

Daniel Witwicky lived on a stringent diet of vegetables and breads. Meat was permitted in small quantities, and even then, as little fat as possible. His condition prohibited him from eating many things people took for granted; foods with sugar or fat were basically disallowed. All food had to be thoroughly cooked for easy digestion and much of the time he had to stick to a liquid diet. This was all a part of his life since the incident on Nebulon so many years ago. The Terrorcon had crushed his vertebra, three ribs, puncture one lung and gouged his intestines. It was a miracle he was even alive. The science that created the Headmasters saved his life, but condemned him to a life-long prison. His sense of normalcy was his family. Aside that, his job, his position and his fate were all pre-planned. He really had no say where he was going in life.

His imprisonment by the very people he once loved as a child made Daniel Witwicky bitter over the passing years. While his grandfather, Sparkplug Witwicky died of natural causes, his father Spike did not. And the deaths of his parents only poured fuel on the small fire of resentment.

Now he sat with his wife and three lovely children at a typical dinner time. Dezi ate with one hand and turned the pages of her science book with the other. Brian ate with his stupid sunglasses on. Resonna sat slumped against the edge of the table, simply pushing her vegetables this way and that over her plate. Her cheeks were flushed.

Daniel met his lovely wife's eyes and took in another spoonful of mashed parsnips. "So!" He declared to get the kids' attention. "What all did you guys do today?"

"Nothin'." Brian grumped.

"Well, Brian, if you would learn to acquire a little enthusiasm in life, you might find something to do." Daniel couldn't understand his own son at times. He watched detached as Brian frowned. "Dezi?"

"Hmm?" She had to rip her eyes from the book.

"What'd you do today?"

"Went to school, Dad." She answered deadpan. "Learned how to rip frogs apart and tell what they ate and whether or not they were pregnant."

Daniel decided not to pursue that avenue.

Dezi did her best not to smile. It was a good ploy, whether or not it was the truth. She thought his question was an invasion of privacy, not a 'reality check'.

"Resonna?" He turned to their youngest.

And Rusti wished she could disappear into her chair and never be seen again. She shrugged. Pain creased her chest. She had to force herself to breath. Her head hurt all day and she wished everyone would just watch TV and leave her alone. After all, they're the ones that turn the TV on while they're watching dinner. Why do they have to ask her questions, too? The stupid green bean on her stupid plate made her think of a log. Look, it can stand on its end. It can roll over from one side to the next. She can divide it in half and find the little treasures inside.

"Resonna?" Netty repeated before Daniel became impatient.

The corn resembled horseshoes that were filled. If you squeezed them just so, a little core would slip out. You can peel the skin off peas, if you're real careful. A stupid TV commercial tried to tell you to buy a car before the summer season came into full swing.

"Mom?" Brian's voice interrupted the moment. "Can I have some money?"

Both parents stared at their son. Daniel's gaze broke off before his wife's. "Why?" He asked with another spoonful of parsnips.

Brian shrugged. "Jus' wanna go out with the guys."

"Well, from what I've heard, your grades are in jeopardy, Brian." Netty snarled. "I think you had better concentrate on your schooling, first."

Brian sighed impatiently.

Rusti studied her lima beans, discovering their skins come off, too. The news reporter talked about leaders in Russia deciding to freely give land to their people for mass farming. It was supposed to be tax-free.

"It's just that this weekend we're going out t' Killer Cliffs Road and do some racing. Then we're headin' out for the VR park for paintball and games. That's all."

Daniel took a swig of water. "I think your mother's point was that you're not studying enough, Brian. She's politely telling you to stay home and study."

"I do that during the week." Brian whined.

Rusti found the lima bean comes apart, generally right down the center and a little 'arm' lays over the topside of the vegetable under the skin. Another commercial talked about the greatness of coffee. Rusti decided she'd like to drink coffee when she was grown up. It seemed to be the 'adult' thing to do.

"Brian." Netty growled. "Since you can't take hints, I'll just say it: 'No.' You're not to go out with your friends. You need to take care of your grades."

"It's just for the day!" Brian whined.

Something slammed into the right side of Rusti's head and she bowed her head toward the right, wishing the pain away. Her chest tightened again and she slumped a little more. The news talked about a battle outside the solar system between the Autobots and some other bad guys-the Quints'sons or something. She wanted to hear more, but would have to ask later. Her vision blurred slightly and she reached for her milk.

"Dammit, Brian, I said 'no!"

"Fine." Brian jumped from the table and walked out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Daniel set a clenched fist on the table. "That boy will be lucky if he sees the sunrise of his twenty-first birthday."

"It's just a phase." Netty replied soothingly.

The glass slipped from Rusti's grip and she watched as it fell in slow motion, crashing on the table. It should not have broken, not that thick a glass. But it did. It bounced once and shattered in the air.

THIS JUST IN; ANOTHER EXPLOSION HAS OCCURRED IN THE DOWN TOWN AREA. CENTRAL CITY POLICE ARE ASKING EVERYONE NOT TO TRAVEL IF POSSIBLE. ALL ROADS BETWEEN MASON AVENUE AND B-STREET ARE CLOSED. ONCE AGAIN, ANOTHER BOMB HAS GONE OFF BETWEEN MASON AVENUE AND B-STREET. POLICE ARE ASKING EVERYONE TO REMAIN HOME. THERE ARE NO CONFIRMED REPORTS REGARDING DEAD OR INJURED AT THIS TIME, BUT WE WILL KEEP YOU POSTED.

* * *

Mrs. Chadwell laid the paper face-down on the desk and walked away. Rusti held her pencil high, hoping somehow she would make some kind of a descent grade so that her folks wouldn't be too mad at her. The whole week had been lousy and she wondered when things would start to get better.

"Ready?" Chadwell asked. She stood against her desk and crossed her arms. "Set? Go."

Rusti turned the math test over and found it chock full of division problems. The first ten were easy. But then the problems got longer and longer and by the time she reached three-fourths down, she found herself more or less guessing. She stopped at that point and really tried to think. She felt a little better today than yesterday; the pain in her head had lessened considerably.

She came up with the answer to problem number 24 on scratch paper and she returned to the test paper. a blot of red smeared across the paper as she glided her fingers across the row. She lifted her hands from the desktop wondering if she had an ink pen open somewhere.

Another drop plopped on the paper and Rusti raised her eyes to the ceiling, wondering if the roof was leaking.

"Oh, gawd!" Mrs. Chadwell flew to Rusti's side and pulled her out of the chair. "Come on, Hon, let's go to see the nurse right now!"

It dawned on her now; her nose was bleeding. Chadwell didn't even let her grab her backpack. The teacher dragged her down the hall and through the principal's office to the back where the nurse was busily talking with a tall bearded man. The slightly over-weight woman turned and the smile on her face died.

"What's this?" She asked.

"We don't know." Chadwell answered hastily. "It just happened."

"What's your name, hon?"

Rusti stared at the nurse for a long moment, wondering why everything around her seemed to move so fast. "Resonna . . . Witwicky." She spoke softly.

The nurse leaned toward her a moment. "Witwicky?" She stood straight up and plucked a couple of tissues and thrust them into Rusti's face. "Sit down, bend over and put this under your nose."

Rusti obeyed, grateful she didn't have to go to class. The nurse sat in her chair and wheeled to her computer and pecked in the name. "Brian's your brother?" She asked.

Rusti only nodded.

The nurse made a face. "Stupid kid." She muttered, meaning Brian. "Resonna, it says here that your folks both work. Is that right?"

Rusti nodded silently again and closed her eyes, longing to lie down somewhere and sleep it all off.

"Well, I've dispatched a call, but nobody's answering." The nurse spun around in the chair and stared at the child. "It might take a couple of minutes, okay?"

The nurse and Chadwell glanced at each other when Rusti did not reply. The nurse took to her feet and pulled a report from the file cabinet. Chadwell folded her arms. "Do you think it's serious, Jenny?"

Jenny shrugged her reply. "Dunno. It could be anything; stress, a fight at home . . . other things." She didn't want to say drugs. "Resonna, did you have any pain before today?"

Rusti nodded.

"Headaches? Bad ones?"

Another nod.

"Resonna's missed class several days last week. Her mother called and said she collapsed in her room."

Jenny rolled her eyes and knelt in front of Rusti. "Hon, I have to ask you some personal questions, okay?"

Rusti just stared at her.

"Did somebody, anybody hit you?"

She shook her head.

Chadwell pulled the nurse aside. "She's depressed, Jenny. I've been watching."

"I can't enter that in the report, Shelly, you know that."

Chadwell looked desperate. "Jenny, you need to call someone and have them take her to an expert."

Jenny shook her head. "Nobody's answering, Shelly. That means no one's available to help her."

Rusti overheard their conversation and the idea that someone had to come pick her up sounded wonderful. She knew her folks couldn't drop everything and come get her; neither could Aunt Delphra. "Optimus." She answered weakly. The two women turned to her.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"Optimus. Optimus would pick me up."

Jenny put on a tolerant smile. "Hon, it has to be a Human, okay? It's nice that . . . an Autobot would come by and pick you up after school, but we can't let you go with him during school hours without your parent's permission. Okay?"

That dashed all her hopes. Rusti pulled the blood-soaked tissue from her nose and the nurse handed her a fresh pair, offering the little waist can for the used tissue. Rusti dropped the used tissue and covered her face with the other one. Just when she thought she was going to be picked up by Optimus! She thought she was going to feel better, too! But with the nurse's words, she suddenly felt worse. She bent over her knees and wished she could be anywhere but where she was.

Netty wasn't a bit fooled by Rusti's bleeding nose. She figured it was self-induced and told the nurse as much. So the girl had to go to school the following day. Missing class was just inexcusable and Netty wasn't about to have to answer another question put to her by the teachers.

"Now." Netty handed Rusti the sack lunch and change for chips and milk. "Aunt Delphra will be here when you get home. I want you to go straight to your room and do your homework. No nonsense today. Got it?"

Rusti listened only a little. Her chest hurt again but she dared not complain. It was something she would simply have to deal with on her own. She meekly nodded and left for the door.

"Resonna." Her mother called again. Rusti only silently turned to her. "I love you."

She forced a weak smile and walked out.

The bus stop wasn't more than a block and a half away from the house. A car passed by and for a moment Rusti wished the car was Nightbeat or Springer or . . . just about any other Autobot. She wished someone would actually notice her misery.

Six other children waited for the bus. A couple of them talked about their sports cards, mentioning names and positions in football and hockey and compared prices between card and comic shops. Rusti felt like a stranger among most of her peers. So many of them did things she didn't do; some of them practically inhabited the VR Park, and its many game arenas, paintball facilities and the new holo-decks. Others were highly involved in sports or 'shopping'. But Rusti was a loner among them.

The bus pulled up and they stomped on, quickly trying to find descent seating. Rusti managed to get a window seat, not really liking to sit in the back. She stared aimlessly out the window as the bus passed her house on the way to school.

Silently she begged the bus driver to hang a left, instead of right. Left was where Autobot City lay. Left of the Lamp Post. She tried to contact Optimus or Roddi for some small measure of comfort, perhaps even a word. But somehow she couldn't make Contact. A rather odd thing. Did time away from them sever the Link? She tried again and again with the same negative results. Nothing.

Something jabbed her chest again and she flinched in pain, holding her breath tight until it subsided. She mindlessly rubbed her breast bone and squirmed in her seat consciously forcing breath into her lungs. Another breath.

Or so she thought.

Blink.

And all turned black.

"I can't breathe." She whispered to no one there. "Please, please, I can't breathe!" She tried to Reach Optimus or Roddi but something had severed her from them. She really was on her own.

* * *

Three nasty tests; tests for which she was hardly prepared attacked her. She heard the lectures and did the homework, but nothing came to mind. So most of her answers were guess work. It was all disheartening.

Her skin grew cold and clammy in history.

She didn't fare well in math either. Her division was too slow and she only finished half of it.

Then came P.E. Rusti had no energy for this. Not today. Mrs. Beaun finally pulled her aside, her hand painfully griping Rusti's arm. "We have been having problems for the past week, haven't we?" Mrs. Beaun always started talking with a question. "Wanna discuss it?"

Rusti used to be good in school. She could run as fast as the guys in PE and really annoy her female peers. She used to be good with math and now nothing she did was good anymore. She made her parents mad and she upset her teachers. Unable to look Beaun in the eyes, she shrugged.

"Okay. I'm not really going to deal with this now, Resonna. I've tried to be patient. You know the rules of P.E. Participation is mandatory and if you can't comply, your folks will have to put you in another class. Right now, you and I will have to take a trip."

Beaun turned to the rest of the class. "I want three laps around the field!" She ordered. "And the first person to whine will take a fourth!" With that she gripped Rusti's arm again and dragged her through the yard, down two hallways and into the principal's office.

Mr. Warner polished his thick-rimmed glasses and turned to Beaun and Rusti. "Well," he sighed. "From what your record tells me, there must be a problem at home. You're a good student, Resonna. At least you were up until a couple of weeks ago." The rotund principal sat in his high-backed chair and laced his fingers. "Perhaps you could tell us what's going on."

Her tight chest allowed only so much for breath and little more. She swallowed hard and feared she'd start crying in front of the adults. What she wanted and what was possible were two different things. And everything she felt just didn't seem very important to them. They dismissed what she felt as inexcusable or insignificant. One tear escaped her and her chest tightened more. She laid a hand on it, knowing the adults were giving her puzzling stares.

"Does she have asthma?" Warner asked Beaun.

The P.E. teacher shook her head and shrugged. "Not unless she's developed it over the last two weeks."

Rusti wished the lights would go out, right now. She wished something would happen to get their attention off her. She wished there was a trap door in the floor she could just fall into and run away. She choked and coughed and the tightness in her chest would not let her draw another breath and she convulsed, falling on the floor.

"Ohmigod!" Beaun dropped to the girl's side and gripped her and Rusti choked again, trying to exhale, trying to inhale and panicking because she thought for sure she'd suffocate right there on the spot. Beaun slapped her a time or two on the back (a bad thing to do) but it knocked Rusti's systems enough to allow her to force air into her lungs. She inhaled with a gasp and rolled into a little ball and wept, wishing everyone would just leave her the hell alone. She heard Warner's clunky footsteps round his desk and tap something into the computer. He paused and tapped again then waited.

Pause.

He tapped at the keyboard in a frenzied pace. Pause. He

tapped again.

Warner repeated the process one more time before sighing and looking up. "I can't get a hold of her parents. Her mother's stepped out and her father's in some kind of meeting he can't get out of. And her aunt is out of town."

But it was something she could have told him. It was something she'd known for sometime. They couldn't help her anyway. They wouldn't help her; they wanted her home.

"Well," Warner's voice filled the silent room. "I guess I could take her home."

His large fat hands gently lifted the girl to a sitting position. "Resonna?" he asked, seeking her attention. "I'm going to take you home. Can you get your stuff?"

She just stared at him, unable to answer. They were both dipshits for not getting the nurse.

Beaun took to her feet. "I guess I could send someone back with them, Jack." She answered in Rusti's stead. She stepped away and closed the door behind her. Warner waited another minute and helped Rusti to sit in a more comfortable position on the floor. "Resonna, we're here to help you. But you have to tell us what's wrong. Are you having problems at home?"

She gave him an empty stare. Even if she did tell him what was wrong, he'd not understand. It was all nonsense. In her weakened condition, Rusti wondered if she could even stand. She moved to lay back down but Warner pulled her back up just as a teacher's assistant brought in a back pack and set it on the chair.

"Is that yours?" Warner asked, pointing to the back pack.

Rusti ever so slightly nodded, but it was enough for the principal. He stood and dragged her up like a doll, handing her pack. He stretched and swiped his keys off the desk, still holding Rusti's arm. "Okay. Let's go."

She almost fell asleep on the way home. What little drifting she managed to do helped ease the stress in her chest. She sat up as they approached the house and weakly thanked Warner before opening the door. He laid a fat hand on her shoulder and looked genuinely concerned. "Res, we're not just a bunch of ogres forcing education down your throat. We are here to help if you need it, you know."

She sent him an empty smile and nodded a thank you. But she knew he was powerless to help. She'd simply have to work it out alone.

He drove away and she watched over her shoulder. She felt isolated. Rusti unlocked the house, locked the door behind her and trailed to her room, dragging her back pack along. She pulled off her shoes and collapsed on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Unable to attain telepathic communication with Op or Roddi left her to her own devices. And for the young girl, that didn't account for much. Perhaps she should just make a telephone call. But at this point, her body wouldn't let her even do that. Besides, she didn't know Fort Max's number; she never needed it before. She turned and flipped her clock radio on.

Phil Collins sang that mushy 'Hold on, My Heart' in the back ground and Rusti inwardly moaned and rolled over in bed. She hated Genesis. But somehow the song fit her mood.

She rolled up in her sheets and blankets and fell fast asleep long before the song ended.

". . . so I told him to drop dead. Imagine the gall that guy had! I think he was just trying to black-book me. (Pause) Hahaha! Nooo! I just temporarily made it hard for him to use the urinal, that's all. (Pause) What? Na-uh! Na-uh! (Pause) No, he was mad 'cause I wouldn't take my pants off. Well, whaddya expect? Candy, what if I ended up pregnant? I mean that would end my career right there. No way. I'm getting into EDC if it's the only thing I do in life. (Pause) yeah, Dad told me Grams told him Great Grams Witwicky was like that too. I guess Witwicky women are very independent creatures. We're a hard catch. (Pause) P'ffft, no! Oh, my heart bleeds! Why doesn't he just get a hobby! Hahaha! I won't go there, Candy, not even!"

And there came a long pause after that. Rusti found herself staring straight at the ceiling; the house too silent except for Dezi's voice over the phone. Rusti's body felt like a lump of lead. She must have become one with the bed or something. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts. She laid there until Dezi's voice broke out in laughter. The girl closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was in Fort Max for the moment. It was hard because her window in Fort Max faced the west side. Her window here faced south. And she could ask Max to open the window and she'd hear the noise of the bustling fortress-city. Here there was nothing but an empty field across the street and silence hung thick toward the end of the day. She sighed and tried again, but no images would come to mind.

She rolled over, facing her pillow. Rusti did not want to be home anymore. After a couple of moments, she forced herself up and heard another burst of laughter pouring in from Dezi's room. It was seldom Dezi took time to talk on the phone. Usually she was studying very hard. Perhaps she had nothing but tests today, the week being mid-term. Rusti found the kitchen and opened the refrigerator and tried to decide what to munch on. Nothing looked good. She was hungry, but couldn't decide what would be good enough to eat. She thought about the cup cakes Mom had bought that weekend, but it wasn't sugar she wanted. Maybe some soup would be good. She thought it over then decided against it too. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Brian ate those by the loaf. Chips? Rusti supposed she wasn't hungry after all. Something ached inside her and took away anything she really enjoyed. Come to think of it, she hadn't even drawn any pictures in the last few days.

"Hungry?" Dezi's voice piped behind her. Rusti started and slammed her back against the counter. Dezi looked very surprised. "Hey, it's just me! I live here, too, you know. Mom said she and Dad were going to bring Chinese tonight. They're leaving for Florida tomorrow."

"Why?" The word just barely escaped her.

"Weekend excursion. Monday's a holiday-Some political holiday thingy or something. Aunt Delphra says 'hi' and said she's going to Nevada tomorrow, but she'd be back on Saturday. Are you okay, Res? You look pale."

She suddenly felt very old and wrapped her arms about herself. Her eyes fell away from Dezi but she could not answer her sister.

"Res, are you hungry?"

"I thought I was." She mumbled.

Dezi sighed wearily. "I know this has been a hard adjustment for you lately. But Mom and Dad feel that you need to learn to live like the rest of us . . ."

Dezi went on to talk about Rusti's obsession over the Autobots and how she just needs to get over it, but Rusti couldn't hear her after the first five words. Her chest tightened again and acid eked into her stomach. The pain made her break into a cold sweat and she walked out of the kitchen, heedless of what Dezi was saying. She collapsed into the couch and clutched a pillow.

"Didn't you hear a word I said?" Dezi asked.

Rusti couldn't answer her; didn't want to. Dezi's hand laid over Rusti's face and she withdrew. "You're hot." She diagnosed. "How about I make you some soup and you can just go to bed?"

Rusti finally looked at her and swallowed a lump in her throat. She merely nodded, squeezing the pillow and lay down.

Their folks came home a bit later than usual. Rusti woke after the front door closed and sighed. Her mother was going to come in and test to see if she had a fever. She heard Dezi make a report about the incident and then, of all things, her mother said:

"Yeah, I know. I already talked to the school. She's going in for counseling tomorrow."

"You think she's faking it?" Dezi's lighter voice followed.

"I think she's making herself sick, yes."

Rusti softly whimpered. That's why her folks didn't come and get her; it wasn't because they were busy, but that they felt her misery was self-induced! Rusti rolled on her side and wished she could die. That'd teach them a thing or two! Maybe when she nearly passed out in the principal's office she should have gagged and coughed up blood.

But if her folks figured it was all self-induced, they probably still would not have done anything.

Counseling! They're sending her to talk to someone in school tomorrow! As if she were crazy or stupid or something!

The light from the living room filtered into Rust's room and her mother's silhouette shadowed the doorway. "Resonna, come out here and join us." It was not a request.

Rusti tried to draw a deep breath and crawled out of bed. Acid burned into her stomach and a slight dizziness hit her once she stood.

Daniel afforded the family a half-gallon of ice cream and watched with a measure of longing as his son devoured twice what everyone else ate. He found Dezi sitting next to Rusti, paying a lot of attention to the TV. Rusti more or less played with her ice cream. She was so frustrating! She didn't like anything they did for her! Such an ungrateful child!

"Well!" He called attention, "Guys, your mother and I are heading for Florida for the weekend. Aunt Delphra will be in Nevada until Saturday, so that means you're going to be on your own, more or less. We're leaving Aunt Missy's phone number in case you guys get into trouble. I'm sure nothing will happen, but she'll be there just in case."

Mentioning Marissa Fairborn's pet name woke something in Rusti and she looked up suddenly, hope rising within her. "Dad, can I go to Fort Max this weekend, since you guys are going to be gone?"

Both parents stared at her as though she had cussed them out. Instantly Rusti realized the request was a mistake.

"No." Daniel denied. "I think you're doing just fine staying home with us."

Desperation hit her. She just had to go back, even for a weekend. "Oh, please!" She begged. "I really miss-"

"No, Resonna." Netty joined in. "You're to stay home and be with the family, now."

She felt crushed. Smothered. Her chest tightened again and she set her ice cream dish aside and took about three steps toward her room.

"Resonna!" Her father shouted.

She froze.

"What is your problem? Isn't your family good enough for you?"

She turned. Her breathing came in gasps. "That's all you care about; what YOU want!" She snarled. "What about what I want? I've been home for four weeks and said nothing. But you won't let me spend one weekend there!"

Her father turned ugly. "You don't belong there. You belong here with us."

"I just want to visit for the weekend. You're not going to be here!" She argued.

Daniel's face darkened. "Get out of here!" He shouted. "I don't want to look at you! Get your ass out of here!"

She ran to her room and closed the door. She didn't even bother to slide under the covers. What was the big deal? They weren't even going to be home themselves, but they wouldn't let her visit? It wasn't by any means fair.

She heard Netty's voice mutter about something and then Daniel's voice roared, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE'RE GOING TO DO WITH HER! SHE OBVIOUSLY FEELS SHE'S TOO GOOD TO BE WITH US. (PAUSE.) I DON'T KNOW. CHAIN HER TO HER BED, OR SOMETHING."

The house fell quiet except for the TV.

* * *

Thursday morning came too soon. Thankfully, though, her parents had already left and she was spared the disgusting shallow 'good mornings' and meaningless kisses. Rusti found her lunch already made in the refrigerator and grabbed an extra apple. Not because she was actually hungry, but because it was what her mother expected.

School started out okay. She managed to pay more attention to math this morning than she had in the last three weeks. She even turned an in-class assignment on time. Her teacher gave her an approving look but then handed her a hall pass and a written order to see Mrs. Dromes, the school 'shrink'. Rusti frowned and obeyed, saying nothing.

Mrs. Dromes' room resembled a safari hunter's living room. Three stuffed animals stood atop file cabinets (one of them a spotted owl) and a swordfish hung above a corkboard plastered with legal papers and notes.

Mrs. Dromes herself looked like a drill sergeant. Her long brown hair lay over her head, kept tucked under a hair clip. Her large face told of years of athletic occupation followed by years of desk-work. She did have a nice pair of brown eyes that wore make up and capped with a pair of light eyeglasses. Her apparel made her look more relaxed than the rest of the school staff. That right there helped Rusti's nerves a little.

"Hi." Dromes greeted.

"Hi." Rusti's voice came small.

Dromes sighed. "Okay. On April 24th, Mrs. Chadwell reported you were doing nothing but daydreaming in class. You failed three tests and brought in no homework. On April 25th, all your teachers reported the same thing; no class involvement, no homework turned in. And this occurred after your mother called you in sick on the 23rd then sent you back to school the very next day. There's the report from Beaun regarding your refusal to participate in P.E. Now, by county regulation, you are required to fulfill all student obligations or be expelled."

Rusti couldn't look her in the eye.

"Miss Witwicky, do you know why the Douglas County school system is the strictest in the nation?"

She still couldn't look the woman in the eye.

"Douglas County has the most unique opportunity on the planet. We work side by side with the Autobots and in order to continue this relationship, we have to prepare the following generations for the future. This means stringent educational standards and training in most every field available to us from pilots to mechanics to business administrators."

Dromes leaned forward on her desk, holding a pen between her hands. "We want you to succeed. We want to put you up there." She nodded toward the ceiling, meaning outer space. "We want our best people out there representing our world. We can't do that, we can't compete with other worlds if we don't train our young properly. Now, I know the competition here is stiff. But competition only weeds out the weak and sloppy. From your previous records, you've shown us you are capable of great feats. You're physically talented and you've turned down our sports programs, despite Beaun's persistent pleas. You're mathematically inclined. You're also good in writing. You've been blessed in so many areas, Resonna, but you're going nowhere. And frankly, the school and your parents are concerned."

She paused a moment and flipped her computer on. "Now, as for some of the incidents, the headaches and so forth, we've been told by your folks that it's your way of getting attention so that they have to let you live with the Autobots. I'm here to find out if that's true or not."

Now Rusti looked at her. She shook her head. "I haven't been faking anything, Mrs. Dromes." She said softly. "I have no reason to."

"Okay, some of these things could be what's called psychosomatic. In other words, Rusti, you subconsciously cause yourself to be sick. You may not mean to consciously, but subconsciously, your mind says 'gee, I don't want to be here, not in the real world. Let's make ourselves sick so that they have to send us back'. And frankly, the school does support such notions."

Rusti's eyes shot her counselor. "I've had this problem since I was a baby." She defended. "How could I suddenly start this now?"

It stumped the counselor. She couldn't find anything to say for a long moment. "Okay, she finally answered. Let's-let's look into that, shall we? How close are you to your parents?"

"Not very." Rusti growled.

"So, you think the Autobots are better adept at handling your needs than your parents?"

"I feel better around Optimus and Roddi. I don't feel sick living at Fort Max. I feel sick when I'm home. I have felt sick for the last three weeks."

"Okay." Dromes intervened. "Define 'sick."

'Bitch', Rusti thought to herself. "Constant headaches. I can't breathe. I break out-this is stupid!" She blew. "No one believes me! What's the use of answering your questions if you think I'm making this up!"

"That's enough, Resonna!" Dromes snarled in turn.

Rusti sat down, arms defensively crossing her chest. She looked away, frustrated.

Dromes calmed. "All we want to do is help you, that's all. And we can't do it if you don't communicate with us."

"I've done that." She grumped. Rusti straightened and for a moment, Dromes noted a strange light entered the girl's sea-grey eyes. Rusti's anger rose and finally she decided to take matters into her own hands. This woman knew nothing about the family, about Brian; that her parents were overlooking him, but picking on her. "My parents don't care about anything but what they want. That's all that matters to them. They get mad at me if I ask to spend the weekend with Optimus and Roddi."

Her anger gave her enough courage to grab her back pack and head for the door.

"Resonna, get back here and sit down." Dromes ordered.

"I've done what everybody else wants me to do." the girl snarled in turn. "I'm doing something for myself, now." And she stomped down the hallway, knowing she probably just got herself suspended from school.

Rusti spent the rest of the day off school grounds then went home by bus just as though nothing had happened. She shouldered her back pack and produced the house key from her pocket, finding the front door already unlocked. Which was an odd thing since Dezi and Brian always came home after she. The girl slowly entered the house, carefully peering round the door. The living room had been ransacked; the couch cushions slashed, the TV turned face down and gutted. She dared a step inside, hearing nothing. Wall pictures had been slashed and piled on the floor. The wall behind them was also gutted. The girl fled to her room and found it also ransacked. Her bed lay in pieces-literally. The mattress lay all over the room, her pillow in much the same condition. Her dresser had been gone through, all her clothes lay scattered across the floor. Her desk stood in much the same condition. Her closet had been gone through. She stepped down the hall into Dezi's room and found it in the very same manner. All Dezi's doll collection was destroyed. Her clothes lay scattered, her bed torn up, her dresser missing all its drawers.

The phone rang, sending Rusti a heart-attack or as close to one as a nine year-old could get. It rang again until she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi, hon." Her mom's voice sang. "Listen, Resonna, your dad and I just arrived in Oklahoma and I thought I'd just call-"

"Mom, somebody's been here."

"Resonna, don't interrupt me."

"Sorry."

"Make sure Dezi sees to it that Brian doesn't go anywhere this weekend. He's to stay home and do his homework. I also want the place picked up."

"Mom?"

"What?"

"Somebody's been here at the house. Everything's all messed up."

"What?" Netty wondered what B.S. her daughter was inventing now.

Rusti was becoming impatient. "The house, Mom! It's all torn up!"

Someone grabbed the telephone from her and Rusti screamed, terror shot right through her like a harpoon. She heard her mother call her name just before Brian yanked the phone cord out of the wall.

"Where is it, Resonna?" He snarled.

"What?" She quaked inside, backing up as he advanced.

"I think you know. I think you're the one who stashed it."

She tripped over a tipped-up coffee table and still kept trying to move away from her deadhead brother. He gripped her by the blouse and hauled her up, face to face. He smelled of odiferous chemicals and body odor. "Where is it?" He demanded between clenched teeth.

She knew she should not have, but she spit him in the face and with that distraction, kicked him in the shin. He growled, releasing her momentarily. She scampered for the front door but he yanked her back by the hair and slammed her to the floor and kicked her in the side. She screamed and cried. He hauled her up, holding her fast by the shoulders and shook her.

"WHERE'S THE GODDAMN PACKAGE, RESONNA?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" She screamed in his face. He slapped her.

"Where's the package, Resonna?" He repeated.

She shook like a rattled autumn leaf. "Please," she wept, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hidden." Dezi's voice filled the living room like a quiet death knell. Rusti saw the door open and her big sister stood in the frame, her arms crossed, her face emotionless. Brian threw Rusti to the floor and her head contacted the edge of the end table. Brian growled and ran for his older sister who deflected his attack. She cracked a bone in his shoulder, plunged her knee in his stomach then shoved his head right through the living room window.

Two of Brian's friends emerged from the garage. Upon seeing Dezi first, then Brian's limp form hanging half out the window, one thug activated a butterfly knife.

"Res," Dezi's voice came in completely controlled tones, "I want you to leave. Right now."

"But Dezi, they might-"

"Just do what I said! Leave the house!" Dezi bore holes into her little sister and Rusti knew better than to argue. She slipped out the front door and heard something else crash in the house, some guys' voice shouted. But she didn't stay to hear anything more.


	4. Chapter 4

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 4

On Wednesday, April 12 at six-thirty P.M., three proud buildings between Mason Avenue and B-Street stood as nothing more than one large pile of cement and broken metal framing.

Under the glare of emergency flood lights, Hotspot, Blades and Groove did what they could to help EDC and Red Cross workers move the lighter bits of rubble while they waited for First Aid.

The sun set completely, leaving the air cold while city police taped the off the area. They fought and argued with press hounds and did what they could to discourage gawkers. Families rushed to identify the bodies of loved-ones, doing little more than add to the noise and confusion. Several non-profit organizations, fan clubs and churches, poured into the scene in vans and wagons offering manual assistance, emergency supplies and lots of coffee.

Rodimus finally arrived with First Aid. Tolomsky sunk his teeth into a powdered donut and pointed at a sniggering reporter who just flashed a picture of him eating. The police chief greeted Rodimus with a raise of his brows as he downed a third cup of hot coffee.

"Beginning to think we're dating." Tolomsky joked.

The joke flew right over Roddi's head. Nothing was funny right now. "What's the situation?"

"It's not pretty. We thought about waiting for your boys this time. I thought if your little Protectobots could do that joining-thing, we might be able to clear the rubble away a helovalot faster than if we used dogs 'nd manpower."

Rodimus nodded. "Good thinking, Jax."

"We're on it." First Aid piped behind Roddi. He tip-toed around the Humans, picking his way toward his companions. Rodimus folded his arms and just listened to the milling noise around him.

A collective cheer rose from the weary, fearful crowd as the Protectobots transformed into the first stage. Then Hot Spot transformed again and used a traction device that pulled the other Protectobots to him. Circuits interlinked, communication devices connected and the huge gestalt known as Defensor emerged from the combination of five personalities and abilities. Rescue crews made room as the huge robot turned and began to carefully lift the largest chunks of concrete and rubble. Dump trucks were guided through and Defensor piled the rubble on their backs. After a few moments, volunteers and city workers plucked up their courage, scrambled around the robot and began their night-long search.

Rodimus and Tolomsky watched from the distance, standing by. After the initial start, Tolomsky turned to Prime, his face grim. "You know, we got a call 'bout three bodies tonight."

"Bodies?"

"Yeah, you know, the dead kind. But we got something more than dead; dead 'nd mutilated."

Rodimus flinched. "What?"

"Well, this ain't somethin' I wanna spit out with so many microphones hangin' around. We don't have any conclusions yet. The bodies," the chief shook his head, "they're not pretty."

"Ritual mutilation?" Rodimus inquired.

Tolomsky smiled wryly. "Yeah. You wanna come in for a peek say . . . Tuesday?"

"Can't." Rodimus grunted. "I have a meeting in New York. But I'll let Optimus Prime know. He's more used to that sorta thing than I, anyway."

"Oh, hey, that's swell. A visit from your boss!"

Rodimus sent him a smile but said nothing.

Watermark Cinemas had been privately owned for six generations. What was once a U/A theater now served as a three-screen, two live-stage building complete with a small cafe and coffee shop. A magazine and library rack stood in the window next to several coming attractions posters and the lunch special for seniors and young mothers.

Once in a while Groove and Blades would manage some time off and sneak in to take a peak at one of the late afternoon films. Generally restored films of the early 1940's and 50's were presented. Humphrey Bogart and Fred Astaire would delight and fascinate the two Autobots who couldn't so much as understand the clichés or the ridiculous plot lines. But they liked the characterizations and the choreography. Usually, however, Blades would go only if there was something like a Godzilla-fest, Jackie Chan or a Bruce Lee marathon. On occasion he would agree to join Groove if they watched one of his films, then the one Groove wanted to see.

Sometimes Groove would sit and smell the food as much as he watched the film. The smell of popcorn and coffee, hot dogs and chocolate filled his senses and made him giggle because it was so funny to see how humans relate the necessity to eat while they watched a film. He understood that it was merely customary, a cultural thing. But it was still very funny.

He watched while one little kid sipped his Icee a little too fast and pressed his head with his hands, moaning over brain-freeze. Groove cackled at the sight, not noticing the tender, sweet kissing scene taking place.

"Shhh!" A lady in front of him turned and crossed her lips with her finger. "This is an important part of the movie!"

Groove looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry." He whispered. He watched as she turned back around and the bubbles of laughter threatened to resurface. He just couldn't help himself!

About half way into "Key Largo" both Autobots' intercoms gleeped and they moaned in chorus. It was time to go. They departed from the auditorium, heading down the hall just as a thunderous noise came right from the room. The two gaped, one Autobot stared at the other to make sure he heard it too.

Smoke and dust escaped from under the door and they rushed in, finding people dead, injured or hiding behind their seats, screaming and holding their ears. In the front of the room, where there should have been a screen, stood the outside world. Groove proceeded forward while Blades called for emergency back up.

Fire devoured the carpet and wall covering all along the right hand side of the room. The chairs caught on fire one at a time and Blades rushed to put it out while Groove made a swift check over those who sat in the first four rows. Fortunately the auditorium wasn't full. But three people were dead. Six more rows back the woman and her son was okay. The lady who sat in front of Grove and Blades now sat huddled between the seats, shaking silently, murmuring.

Groove leaned over and offered her his hand. "Hey, I'm sorry about earlier. Need a hand?" He even thought about removing his hand and giving it to her and he tried so desperately not to laugh out loud.

She finally looked up and took his fingers and pulled herself to her feet. But the lady trembled with trauma, her face white. Groove didn't know much about human physiology, but his movie hobby gave him enough smarts to know when a girl was going to faint.

He was right. He caught her as she crumpled.

The cinema owners rushed in and started checking their guests, offering to help them out of the room. One owner barked orders into his communicator, ordering his staff to evacuate the cinema immediately.

Groove carefully dragged the lady to the center isle and laid her down while Blades put out another flame burst and gabbed on with an employee. The motorcycle-transforming Autobot gave his attention back to the lady and to his relief, she had regained consciousness.

"Are, are you okay?" He asked politely.

"I think so." She replied in a daze. "This cinema has so many voices and the bomb shocked them."

"Voices?" Groove glanced around them, finding only five people in the room. In a distance, he heard sirens singing and Groove guessed help was on its way.

"Psychic footprints." The lady answered and she shuddered. "All old buildings have them. Especially places where emotion runs deep."

"How . . . how do you know that?"

She gazed at him, her eyes covered in disorientation. She

slowly sat up, carefully adjusting her dress and coat. "I'm-m-m psychic. I know it sounds weird. But-"

"Oh, no, not weird at all! It's kinda cool."

She gave him a wry smile and tried to stand, her legs a bit wobbly.

An usher pushed through the doorway. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he cleared his throat, "I've been ordered to escort you out the building. Our box office will offer you either a refund or a pass for a later date."

The lady, a woman somewhere in her mid thirties, slightly over weight, threw a pleasant smile at Grove, though he could tell she was shaken. "Well, thank you. . . uhm, what'd you say your name was again?"

"Groove, ma'am."

"Oh. I'm Mrs. Jamison, I'm from-" she stopped dead for a moment, her eyes grew wide. "It's ticking!"

Both Grove and the young usher stared at her. "What?"

She hit the floor just as a rumble echoed from the very next room. Streetwise came screeching up right in front of two police cars. He gasped and poked his head through the hole.

"Is everybody okay?"

Groove covered Mrs. Jamison and the usher's body with his just as the wall next to them blew in from the other side. Jamison screamed as the thunderous noise drowned them in a sea of chaos and a flash of searing hot air followed.

The fire department jumped to secure the new fire storming in the next auditorium. A bomb squad rushed in and began a room-to-room search. Groove sat up, debris and dust fell off his chassis. He gaped at the terrible destruction around him. The seats in the next auditorium had caught afire, the screen dangled in tatters.

Mrs. Jamison hugged herself, staring as one far away. Streetwise approached her, glanced at Groove then looked back at her. "What's this? How come she didn't leave with the other Humans?"

"She fainted." Groove replied simply. "I've seen girls do it in the movies. So I brought her here to the carpet."

"Is she okay?"

"I will be." The lady replied. "That is, if someone would be nice enough to get me something to drink."

"I-I'll do it." Groove volunteered. "I owe her one anyway." He added with a mutter.

Streetwise shook his head as his brother jumped away. He turned back to her. "Can I escort you out?"

She lifted her hand, now covered in dust and scratches. Streets took it between his huge fingers and led her out through the rubble to the fire and rescue. People milled in and all about the theater. Police officers tried to tape off the area more to keep out the news hounds than onlookers. They placed three people on the ground, their bodies covered in white sheets. Fire crews hauled two other people on anti-grav stretchers and others reported their version of the bombing. A woman tried to calm her crying child.

Groove came back with a glass of water for Mrs. Jamison. She started to shiver now and a Red Cross worker laid a blanket across her shoulders.

"Can I get you anything else? Are you injured?" The worker asked.

"No. I've just a few scratches. I'll be fine, thank you." And she sipped her water. She watched on as Hotspot pulled up and lent the firefighters a hand. Blades lifted two people to the hospital and Grove left again to help the crews remove damaged rubble.

Streets remained by her side, knowing he should excuse himself and leave, but his optics were glued to the cinema's back wall where the remains of a cluster of graffiti told of a story he could not understand. The same people responsible for the B-Street bombing did this too, or at least that's what he could tell.

"So what's your name, cutie?" Mrs. Jamison quietly asked beside him.

Streets was stunned by the compliment and stammered over his answer. "Erh . . . uhm . . . Streets-Streetwise, ma'am."

"Oh. You're with that big fellow, huh?"

"Big . . . fellow? Hotspot?"

"No. Defensor."

"Oh. Heh. Yeah. You've seen us, huh?"

"No. The imprints are all over you."

Now she spoke in riddles. He stared at her, unable to determine what she meant. Groove returned the next minute and handed the lady another cup of water. She sipped it while the two Protectobots gazed at one another nervously. Behind them the bomb squad picked and poked in and out of the two rooms.

"I'm willing to bet you guys have no idea who's responsible for this." Mrs. Jamison took a few more sips of water before stepping around Streets toward the gaping hole.

"Well, no." Streets confessed. He glanced at Blades who busily gave a detective the down-load from the time he and Groove entered the theater.

"Well, I can tell you this much." Jamison lightly stepped over huge blocks of plaster and support beams. "They're not interested in money.

"No, that much I've been able to deduce myself." Streets agreed. "We have boxes of stuff belonging to victims-"

"'Scuse me." A detective called behind them. "But no one is allowed to spread information to citizens. No press-leaks."

"Of course." Jamison purred. She handed him the Styrofoam cup and made her way back to the ambulance. She pointed to the back wall graffiti, the drawing of a face with a set of huge bulbous eyes, a third eye between them and a devil's smile.

"It means they're everywhere." Jamison interpreted.

Groove and Streetwise stared at her in shock.

"H-how do you know that?" Streets marveled. "It's what they said at the puppet museum."

"I see things like a book. I can see words spoken and see words in pictures."

Groove grinned. "She's psychic, Streets. Isn't that cool?"

Streets looked a bit sheepish, now. "I . . . 've never really believed in any of that stuff. I like to be able to touch it before believing it."

"Empiricism, Streetwise?" She raised her brows and drained her second glass of water. "Alright, Mr. If-I-Can't-See-It,-Smell-It,-Touch-It-It-Doesn't-Exist, you tell me what all that writing on the wall means."

"It's a code?" Of course, he was guessing. Streets hadn't had time to look over all the police photos from the school wall, but he was sure it would be the same.

"Close." Jamison agreed.

Streets gave the wall another look. The face of the puppet sneered. It was down right creepy. "What . . . what does it say?"

"They've declared war."

Several hours later, Streets and Groove found their leader in the "Cybersphere", a sort of pub for Autobots who vent their boredom on pool, darts or TV sports. It was Hotspot's favorite hangout. He played everything from table tennis to poker, often with Springer, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. But with Springer's absence, Hotspot and Sideswipe had to invite Joyride to replace their laid-up companion. Sunstreaker was out on assignment and would not be back for another three weeks.

"He's got the thing licked." Sideswipe moaned as Hotspot took his turn at darts. He had lost the last three games and it looked like his chances hadn't improved. The Autobot warrior took another gulp of his 'bubbly', enjoying the searing sensation of converted liquid hydrogen and radium. Sometimes the stuff made him a bit tipsy, as the humans would say . . . whatever. But he enjoyed the many dozen or so drinks available at the pub. The stuff certainly wasn't what a sane Autobot would intake on a regular basis. Some of it was way too potent, jazzing the circuits with bursts of power that came and went. Some of it was too raw and overcharged the system.

But it was still fun to drink and the pub, which also offered alcohol to EDC staff during off-duty, gave the Autobots and Humans something in common.

"I wouldn't fuss overmuch." Joyride grinned maliciously.

"Yeah?" Sideswipe inquired. "How's that?"

"Oh, a little something I happen to reckon."

"Right." Sideswipe nodded and he took up a chair.

"No, really. I'm going to instigate a system that will advance my numbers."

The Autobot warrior held up his glass. "Okay, Chucky, three hours' allowance says he still leaves you at the starting line."

"I agree to your wager if you also agree to take up my night shift at VR."

Sideswipe's lip components hung straight down in horror. Nobody liked that assignment and he had been of the lucky few who had been missed in the last two months. He thought it over, knowing what a great shot Hotspot was. The former ranger had an optic sensor that could detect sandfleas under the ocean six miles away. He smiled. "You're on, Chuckles. And to make it sweeter, you get to take up my Monsterbot duty for a whole day."

"Acknowledged."

And they shook on it.

Hotspot returned, now having his fill of the latest soccer scores. He was all smiles at this point and drew up a chair. "Looks like Canada's taking this one."

The other two had no idea what he was talking about. He took one sip of his drink as an Autobot femme passed the table. He nearly dropped his tankard and reached around in his seat. "Ma'am?" He called. She turned, her face plastered with an obviously weary smile. "Would you fill my companion's glasses and find out if the pool table is available yet?"

"Lordy, Hotspot, you old fogy! You've been here often enough. Use my name. Or can't you read?"

"Left my brains back at my quarters."

"Rangers!"

"Yes, Ma'am. That's 'xactly what they said, too."

Now she looked a bit cross, but only teasingly. "Will you two please take him home and tell First Aid to give him a new CPU transplant? One of these days we'll be forced to fit a flat in here and adopt him like a stray dog!"

Sideswipe tipped back in his chair's back legs, an idiotic grin lay plastered over his face. "We gotta a game of darts t' play first, I'm afraid."

"We conversed and decided to see if Hotspot can win this next game."

"Oh, well, have it your way. But after that, take him home!"

The two Autobot warriors sniggered and Sideswipe left his chair to purchase the darts.

Hotspot hovered over his drink, a really stupid grin creased his face and he just stared at his glass. "Tal Rodrocker's goin' to be an e'ceptional football player this season. You know that, dont'cha?" He gazed at Joyride who could only give him a light smile.

"Explain yourself." Joyride took a sip of his Wirering drink, not really interested in more sports statistics.

"I mean that it's gonna be a killer football season. I'm gonna even sneak Blades n' . . . n' Groove in with me. Heh . . . it's good to be a Protectobot. Know what I mean?"

Joyride hesitated, really not sure of anything Hotspot was saying. "Do you guys ever attend any of the highschool games?"

"Hell, yes!" Hotspot brightened. "I've been a big supporter o' them kids, you know. N' fact, baseball seasons' 'bout t' start and I'm gonna drag Blades and Streets with me. Streets . . . he likes baseball. Idiot kid can't throw a spheroid to save his miserable metallic hide, but he's a good kid. Groove . . . wouldn't give him a cotton ball. He'd turn it into a new-fangled grenade 'r something. I think he's got a short in there First Aid keeps overlooking. I think, really, Blades is the only level-headed . . . of the bunch."

Sideswipe came back and dangled a blue dart in front of Hotspot. "You game there, Spots?" He baited.

Hotspot, slowly losing his senses to his drink, smiled more idiotically than before, the upper portion of his body rocking to and fro with Sideswipe's dangling hand. The Protectobot leader swiped the dart from the Autobot's hand before either he or Joyride could say another word. "Always gotta git up and move there, boys." he declared. "It's good for the soul to move. And . . . and it's high time I just did that." He staggered once, then caught himself and aimed for the adjoining game room.

Streetwise and Groove found the table and watched as Hotspot made his way toward the next game room. They looked at Sideswipe and Joyride who smiled privately and took sips of their 'recreational' energon.

"What's up with the Big Guy?" Groove asked. He picked up Spot's glass and made a face at the nasty smell. "Peew! What have you guys been feeding him? This isn't gonna make him discharge, is it?"

Sideswipe wasn't about to say, since he really never had those kind of reactions himself. He found Hotspot aiming for the dartboard and dashed into the room, Streets and Groove's optics following him.

"Wa-a-a-itaminute, there, Big Fella!" Sideswipe could barely contain his laughter. "In order for this to be a real game, you need to step all the way back to the door there. That's where the real excitement begins."

"'xcitement?"

"Yeah. The good stuff." Sideswipe chuckled.

"Yer not taking advantage of me, are ya now, Sidessswipe?"

"Advantage? No, I just wanna win my wager."

"By making me stand all the way to the doorpost? But, I don't even think I c'n make it."

"Awe, now, BG, I have all the faith in the universe in you! I just think you can still do it all from here. After all, if I win, I won't have to take Joyride's VR duty. So . . . " here he whispered: "Concentrate."

Streets and Groove didn't like this. Not that there was any harm being done. After all, Spots got himself into this mess.

"This isn't going to take long, is it?" Streets asked nervously.

"It should not, providing Hotspot does not procrastinate in his attempts." Joyride took another sip of his drink, so obviously pleased with himself.

"Well!" Groove snapped. "I think you're a little uncivilized, forcing poor Spots into a lonely game! He lives for challenge, not bet-taking!" And he snatched up Joyride's drink and drained it in two gulps. He slammed the glass down and took three steps before stumbling.

Streets moved to help him, but Groove pushed him away. "One side there, puritan!" He slurred. "Let the damned be foolish!"

"Or the foolish be damned." Streets snarled. He folded his arms and threw Sideswipe a mean gaze.

Groove took up the yellow darts from Side's grip and joined his boss.

"Groove!" Hotspot suddenly brightened. "So here at the end of all things you stand, right by yer idiot leader's side!"

"Not so much as t' fix a mistake, there, Big Guy." Groove cast a crooked smile. "You already went, I see. C'n I go, now?"

"You didn't say 'boss, may I'!"

"Boss, may I?"

Hotspot threw him a puzzled look. "That don't go quite right, don't it, Goove, boy?"

"Nosir. Don't go right t'all. 'Mother may I', maybe. How bout 'Boss, I'm beggin'."

"Yup. That sounds good."

"Kay. Boss, I'm beggin. C'n I go since you already been a-goin'?"

Streets fumed silently. "This is repulsive." And he turned to leave. But Sideswipe caught his arm.

"Wait. We gotta see the end of this."

Streets wanted to teach Sideswipe a lesson in manners and public behavior, but thought the better of it. Besides, there was something in Sideswipe's face that made Streets decide he really should stay and watch. He frowned silently and relented, watching through the archway into the other gaming room.

Groove took his sweet time in the turn, aiming for the stupid little board. He aimed, paused, aimed, paused and finally threw the dart.

It kissed the wall instead of the target and tapped impotently on the floor.

"Well, Boy!" Hotspot boomed over the noise of the pool table. "You might be a shitty marksman, but yer still a good kid."

Groove brightened. "Does that mean you might try a-talkin ol' First Aid inta changing me inta Harley Davison?"

"Heh." Hotspot threw his dart and got a bullseye. "Groove, I like ya as you are. You're quieter this way."

"Awe, come on, boss! I'm a good kid!" He whined pitifully. "You said so yerself a minute ago. Harley's all I want in life!"

"I change you inta Harley and we'd not see you again." Hotspot pointed. "It's hard to be a team when the left leg is missing."

"I'd be there!"

"Yeah. Sometime during Christmas, if we were lucky."

"No, really! I'd be there . . . sometimes."

"Ah-hah." And Spots made his next toss, again getting the bullseye.

Sideswipe was looking very smug about now. Streets became more and more disgusted. He leaned back against an empty table, arms crossed. Hot Spot only had three darts left.

Groove took his turn and miraculously made a bullseye himself.

"Not bad." Hotspot approved. "Betcha can't do it again, though."

"What?" Groove sneered. "You think cuz I have bad taste in transforms and wanna be a Harley I can't shoot a real target?"

"Not from standing with your back to the wall and tossing it over your shoulder."

"No!" Streetwise profusely objected. "This is outrageous! Listen to you two, sounding like a couple of drunks! Making complete idiots of yourselves!'

Hotspot looked lost. "But, that's what I come here for, Streets."

Streets stared at him intensely. "I need to talk to you." He growled.

"Oh." Hotspot stared at him blankly for a moment then a light snapped on in his head. "Well, why didn'tcha say so to begin with?" He handed the darts to Groove and laid a hand on Street's shoulder. "Groove, Boy, you c'n wait t' later t' finish, right?"

"We didn't finish the argument, Boss."

"Get to that later, Boy."

"Yessir."

"Wait!" Sideswipe cried. "You can't leave the game open like that!"

Hotspot sent him a crooked smile. "Well, I didn't know you were such a sports fan, there, Sides. Tell you what, you finish if for me, huh?" And he guided Streets outside the pub.

Sideswipe looked horrified and Joyride sided up to him. "Well, a forfeit pretty much means a loss, doesn't it? I guess that means I win." He held his hand out. "Cough it up there, Sides."

Streets and Hotspot wove their way through the pub and outside. Hotspot had a slight balance problem, but managed under his own power. He followed Streetwise to a quiet part of the courtyard and the two sat at an outside table.

"Well, Streets," Hotspot sighed. "Sorta bad of you t' come along and mess up the game."

"Sorry, sir." Streetwise apologized quietly. He really didn't mean it, but at least it sounded good in his own audios.

"What's on the upswing?"

"Well, sir, there's this girl . . ." and he caught the look of surprise from his commander and Streetwise straightened up, his own face a blank. "Er, no, not what you're thinking. She's Human. Her name is Mrs. Jamison, a psychic."

"Really?" Hotspot seemed to finally pay closer attention and he crossed his arms over the tabletop. "I hadn't read your report yet."

"No sir. I hadn't written it yet. It happened just today, sir."

"Ah-hu. And what of her?"

"Well, Spots, I'd like to have her help me out on this case. She . . . she interpreted the graffiti on the wall written on the cinema that was bombed earlier today."

"Interpreted it? You mean she can translate it?'

"After a fashion. I don't think she can translate it word for word, but she was able to give me the gist of what it said."

"Oh? And what did it say?"

"The people who bombed the theater have declared war."

"War? On whom?"

"I don't know yet. I couldn't get her to say more because Lt. Mary Standzor insisted Mrs. Jamison leave the premises."

"Well, you don't believe in psychics, Streets. What makes you think you can trust her?"

"I . . . I just got a feeling, that's all."

"Hmm." Hotspot didn't seem very impressed and he sat back, arms still folded over his chest.

Streets was expecting a little more reaction or support. But Hotspot offered him nothing. It made him nervous when someone did that because it meant he was forced to make the next move. "Did you want me to ask Rodimus or Ultra Magnus?"

Hotspot was quiet a moment longer then sat forward again.

"No, I'll go ahead and ask. I'm supposed to be reading your reports, but haven't gotten to it yet. They've been finding weird stuff on the highway pass thirty miles south of here and there was a fire out there yesterday. Me and Hosehead were out there all day trying t' put out the fire and find out what caused it."

"Did you find the cause?"

"Eh? Yeah. Arson."

Streetwise blinked. "Deliberate? Why?"

Hotspot stared blankly at him for a long moment then from a compartment in his arm he produced a long string with a thick bunch of hair tied at the end. "There were a whole pile o' these out there before the fire got to them. I kicked this one away before it caught on fire. I was gonna have it analyzed, but I thought I'd keep it and show it to you. Mean anything?"

"No." Streets answered quickly. "But if we could get Mrs. Jamison on the case, I'm sure she might help us out."

Hotspot handed him the item and looked a little more comfortable. "Alright, Streets. Get it analyzed, or whatever. You're better at that kind of thing than me. I'll see what strings I can pull t' get your little friend on the case. Is she good?"

"Well, she managed to figure out what the graffiti said, and she did warn Groove that there was another bomb about to blow. If she's right about this weird thing, then I'd guess that'd make her good, wouldn't it?"

Hotspot nodded. "Make me a report. I'll talk to Prime."

"Thanks, boss."

Tuesday rolled around. As per the request of Chief of police Tolomsky, Prime prepared to head into town-alone.

"No you're not." Kup argued.

Prime suppressed a smile. "Kup."

"Not another word! If Ironhide were here, he'd agree and take on the assignment personally. I'd go myself. But there's a small problem: I have to stay here and keep this city under lock and key. Besides, we're still having inventory problems."

Optimus permitted himself a small smile under the scrutinizing gaze of his security officer. "Very well. I'll take Streetwise and Tripcord with me. But not the Dinobots. This is Downtown Central, not the Dead Zone."

Kup looked a bit smug, having won one of several arguments concerning the safety of their leaders.

The building codes in Central City had been redesigned over the last fifty years to accommodate Autobots and Humans alike. It was very common to see a milling crowd of Humans and an Autobot or two towering among them. The one thing that was newer were the Head/Targetmasters who now walked the city wearing robotic exo-suits.

Most 'accessible' (or Autobot-friendly) buildings were built with the assistance of the Autobots, as Central City had become far more than merely the closest town to Fort Max. Now it was a major space port, a place often visited by aliens of all races and breeds. Built for creatures of all sizes, most of the buildings were virtual works of art. The roadways, too, were reconstructed, broadened in most places, to allow landing space for triple changers. All the city's modifications came out of the Autobot's expenses as Optimus wanted his people to adapt and melt into Human society but not at the Humans' expense. After all, no matter how much at home the Autobots would feel on Earth, they would always still be guests.

Prime pulled into the police department's Bureau of Investigations. Streetwise and Tripcord followed him into the parking lot but only Streetwise went in with Prime.

The Bureau of Investigations had been on red alert since the stake burning incident and with the advent of each new bombing, everyone's nerves balanced on edge. The only clues left to them were the bombs and their victims. Aside that, nothing indicated the next terrorist strike.

Prime and Streets left Tripcord standing outside. They approached the receptionist, a woman overwhelmed with phone calls, piles of paperwork and people shouting at her. Dark circles nestled under her eyes and her hands shook nervously.

"We're looking for Chief Tolomsky." Optimus explained.

She stared at them for a long moment then forced a laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just drew a complete blank! Uhm . . . um where is he? Oh gawd, I can't remember a thing, not a darn thing anymore! Peter, do you know where Jax is?"

"Yeah, upstairs, in his office."

She looked back, flushing over her incompetence. "You'll find him upstairs in his office."

"Thank you." Optimus said softly.

Prime and Streetwise traveled up the stairway to the second floor. The area there was even more insane than downstairs. People shouted over one another, intercoms and phones rang and buzzed, paper flew and fell and coffee was passed and spilled. Word processors ran a million miles a minute, three TV's sounded from different areas of the room and people constantly went back and forth up and out of their seats.

"There you are!" Jax Tolomsky called from the furthest part of the insane asylum. Prime and Streetwise carefully made their way around the milling workers, nearly colliding with someone who argued profusely on his cellphone. They entered a hallway and followed Tolomsky up a small stairwell and into a medical examination room.

"You know, we don't normally use this place. We like to keep bodies at the hospital. But the circumstances around their deaths forced us to do the autopsies here. We also don't normally keep the bodies beyond 36 hours, SOP, you know. But I explained to the Upstairs Guys I really wanted you two to take a look at these. It's really creepy."

He opened three body slots for Prime and Streets to examine.

Words etched into on the victim's faces, their eyes were sewn shut. Ugly purple marks lined their hands and their innards had been removed. The sternum was missing in all three bodies.

"Not pretty." Tolomsky growled over a cup of coffee.

"Was there anything else lying around the bodies, something to indicate what kind of a ritual it was?" Prime was mindful of Streetwise's scrutinizing over a particular woman's body. The Protectobot seemed to want to touch the corpse and flinched his hand back several times.

"Nope. We done a clean-sweep too. We took everything in the area to the girls and they went through it all. Found zippo. Natta on prints. Natta. Not so much as a used Kleenex." Tolomsky's cellphone bleeped two and three times before he decided to answer. "Boss."

Streetwise gently tapped Prime's arm for attention and the Autobot leader turned to him. "Commander, these people were holding something. Swords, I'd say. See the hilt indentations?"

Tolomsky spat out a cuss word and deactivated his phone. He punched the nearby wall.

"Another bomb." Prime guessed.

"No. A hospital's been broken into. Files on clients 'r all missing. Computer databases 're all dumped and erased. I'm sendin' people over now."

Tolomsky went around the Autobots and made his way to the main lobby, the two mechanical giants tagged his heels. He stopped at the receptionist desk and pulled his mail.

Streetwise narrowed his optics and leaned closer. "Why would anyone break into a hospital for someone else's files?"

"Awe, just some dumb kids, I suppose." Tolomsky snarled as his eyes scanned an envelope.

Prime and Streetwise exchanged glances. The Protectobot frowned and thought hard. "You know, all hospitals have good security systems to keep out the weirdos. Maybe we could go through the tapes and see what we can find."

"Good thinking, Streetwise." Prime praised.

"Yeah!" Tolomsky agreed. "I'll send Acopole, one of my geeky detectives with ya'. He loves that kinda stuff."

The receptionist stood and rounded her desk, knocking over a pile of paperwork and her coffee cup as she did so. A nearby fellow dashed to her rescue, reaching for paper and pens.

"I have been so clumsy lately!" The receptionist admonished herself. She grasped the cup with a handful of papers and reports and the cup slipped out her hand and shattered on impact.

She dropped everything else and started crying. The helper brushed past Prime, dropping all his paperwork, and embraced her.

Prime felt he should check on his people down town. "Streetwise, you and Chief Tolomsky go on. I'll take Tripcord and head to the I.G. building. Contact me when you're through."

Tripcord had finally gotten bored. People filed in and out of the building as though it were a factory. A few punk-rockers hung around the steps yammering among themselves. Those must be undercover cops, the Autobot thought to himself.

The Autobot leaned against the post and glanced at ID's as people passed him, assuming he was part of building security.

A couple of male twins tromped up the steps. They had the very same weight and height, even the same set of freckles lay on the same side of their faces. Tripcord straightened out to get a better look. They flashed ID's indicating they were 'delivery boys'. But only one of them went in. The other waited outside, glancing around.

Tripcord smiled at the twin: "It must be interesting to be someone's twin."

The blond fellow set his eyes on Tripcord, perhaps considering Tripcord's naiveté. "It has its advantages." He replied.

"It's fascinating how Human physiology can produce carbon copies of itself purely be accident or coincidence." The Autobot warrior wondered what that was like to have someone else walk around wearing your body.

"Well, in my case, it was pretty deliberate."

"Is that so? Your parents programmed the genetic structure to create two of you? I didn't think that was possible!"

The twin smiled kindly, "Science and DNA can work wonders, my friend."

His twin emerged from the building and the first twin waved good-bye as they walked away. The Autobot pondered over the mathematic possibilities of twins in a small town.

Optimus Prime came out the building a minute later. "Tripcord, we need to visit the I.G. building."

Tripcord silently followed as Optimus transformed. The Autobot finished his mathematical equation, rather pleased with his calculations. But when his optics glanced across the street and spotted another pair of twins heading down the opposite direction, he realized he would have to recalculate. He thought for moment longer as he transformed and waited behind Optimus who waited for three people to cross the street. Tripcord found the possibilities of two sets of twins in a population of three million not an uncommon occurrence. And the chances of seeing two sets of twins in one day were pretty remote.

"Must be my lucky day." He thought. He started to roll out and the Investigations building beside them shuddered when a bomb erupted from the backside.

The noise struck the air with a clap, shattering several car windows and haphazardly tossing debris every direction. People cried out and kissed the ground, most of them struck by rubble.

Optimus spun right around and dashed back in, pushing aside the broken doors. He had to use his scanners to search through settling dust. People slowly came to, coughing and moaning. From what the Autobot leader could immediately see, no one had been seriously injured here. He carefully crunched over the mess; support beams, glass from the windows, the tile floor that now lay as refuse. "Tripcord," he called into his comline, "Contact Magnus. Tell him to send for emergency services on the double." Optimus paused in his search and found the receptionist huddled pitifully under a fallen partition. She was visibly shaking, her weeping trilled to the tune of one now suffering from traumatic distress. Prime knelt slowly before her. He knew exactly what she was feeling, the terror and frustration of helplessness.

"Can I take you outside?" He asked quietly. He lowered his hand and it took everything she had to force herself into his cautious embrace. There she lay huddled like a terrorized little animal. Prime took her outside the building and planted her between a tree and the stairwell wall. At least she would feel safely hidden until the paramedics arrived.

He returned to the building as a few more people came to. Some survivors lay crushed under the rubble, others suffered wounds from flying glass, concrete or metal.

Prime detected the sounds of creaking support beams. "Everyone must clear the building immediately." He ordered matter-of-factly. "There's no telling whether or not it will collapse."

At first they stared at him and Prime waited patiently for his warning to sink in. Then one lady helped her co-worker out the door. Then another couple of workers departed. After that, people started moving, gathering materials and departed in an eerie silence.

From the stairwell stepped several more people. One officer turned to them and started barking demands, telling one man to find all the folders he could lay his hands on. He shouted at a woman, ordering her to retrieve memory crystals. He shouted at another person still and told him to find a way to get a computer going.

"And who the hell do you think you are, buster?" Some other officer challenged. "I didn't know you were our godfather-in-crisis. Wanna tell us where and when to urinate next?"

"Hey, don't get funny with me, bozo-breath!" The 'boss' shouted back. "If we don't save anything here, it's back to square one. So instead of standing there like a pimple, grab something!"

"You come up here and you say that to my face, Poteet!" The second man snarled. "Come on! I dare ya! Just one little right-cross on the ol' pucker!"

The two men were interrupted when one lady shrieked hysterically, struggling between two men who were trying to drag her downstairs. Behind them strode a calm, collected Chief Tolomsky. Dust powered the top of his balding head and shoulders. A bad cut alongside his face indicated he had a brush with sharp metal. Streetwise followed him. His chassis was bent in several places, pieces of metal pierced his metal hide and the Protectobot winced every time he took another step.

"That'll be enough, people." Tolomsky muttered. "We're not here to play king of the hill with each other. Poteet, keep it up and I'll have to call you into my office. Don, get the ladies out of here, will ya?"

Prime waited for Tolomsky to make his way down while emergency sirens wailed outside and crews of helpers piled out of vehicles.

The Chief drew a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his face. "Prime, I've had enough of these bastards."

"I don't think I'll ask you if you're alright." Optimus kept his voice soft.

"Thank you." Tolomsky snarled. "Jesus. When is this bullshit going to stop? And I wish someone would stop the buzzing in my head!"

The whine of fire trucks and paramedics filled the area.

Tolomsky folded his kerchief and blotted his face again. "I hope that Staummers fellow remembers to tape the area first. Look, I gotta get some aspirin. I'll talk later." Tolomsky stomped away and swept a folder from a broken desk. He slammed it into the trash on his way out the door. It was the first time Prime had actually seen the man look angry.

Optimus turned to Streetwise. "Head back to Maximus. Get yourself repaired."

"Where are you going?"

"To the I.G. building. Tell Kup I'm taking Tripcord with me. It'll make him feel better."

"What about here?"

Prime shook his head. "There's nothing we can do, Streetwise. Not now, anyway. I want to find those responsible for this and pin them on a wall plaque." Something else nagged Prime. He wasn't willing to disclose that to Streetwise; not when he couldn't tell what it was himself. He walked away and headed out just as Steeljaw and Springer arrived.

"Springer?" Prime inquired. "Are you in operational condition?"

"Well, I can't take on the whole Decepticon Empire." The Wrecker admitted. "But a few minutes longer under First Aid's meticulous care and I would have become a wall clock."

Optimus nodded. "Very well. Just don't do anything to put yourself back there. Steeljaw, I need you to help find the survivors. Springer, scan the area. I suspect our culprits are still somewhere nearby."

"Oh, goody." Springer crossed his arms. "Steeljaw gets all the fun while I pretend I'm a video camera."

Madness had taken over the I.G. Building and Prime was glad he decided to go there despite the bombing incident. Something bothered him . . . something wasn't quite right but at the moment, he couldn't catch it. He entered his blue-room office and contacted Roddi who still worked from his office in New York.

"We just had another hit." He reported to his Second.

Rodimus cussed and frowned. "We're still at the negotiating table. Daniel's not taking to this well, either. He seems to feel the rioters have the right to attack the city." He sighed. "When I get back, I'm going to kill you for assigning him to this little job." He paused, catching a light, but empty smile in the Senior Prime's optics. "So, didja hear anything more about those disappearing bodies?

"Disappearing bodies?" Prime echoed.

"Well, that is to say the bodies that disappeared a couple days ago and turned up later, mutilated."

Prime leaned over on his desk, his head between his hands.

"You think they're connected?" Rodimus asked.

"Mmm. I don't know, Rodimus. Streetwise is investigating a break-in at the Hilltop Hospital. All its client databases are missing. It's probably nothing, but I don't want to leave anything out."

"That's for sure." Rodimus answered. "Hey, uh, I know this is a bad time, but have you contacted Netty to ask if Rusti could stay the weekend? I'd ask Daniel, but I don't think right now is a good time."

Optimus stared at the televisor as if Rodimus had just hit godhood. THAT was what was bothering him! "Rodimus!" he breathed.

"What?" Roddi smiled. It wasn't often he'd see Prime so completely surprised.

"That's what's been nagging me!" He considered his sensations for a moment; trying to name whatever was upsetting him. The . . . distress wasn't his. "Rodimus, I'll contact you later. When do you think you'll be back?"

"In a few more hours. Seems we might be able to settle this with a work contract. Omega has agreed to assist with reconstruction here. It's trying my patience, that's for sure."

Prime sniggered. "Better you than me. Prime out." He turned the televisor off and swung around in his chair, staring out the office window. His optics scanned the reflective glass windows of the building opposite the street. He wondered if he shouldn't just pick Rusti up from school and take her home, or wait and call her parents and ask them over the phone. It would be easier for them to say no over the phone than in front of the girl.

But, he digressed, something like that should wait until the weekend was closer, say Thursday. It was only two days away. The request could wait that long. Prime thought that would be a safer thing to do as he did not want to strain the relationship with Rusti's parents. After all, there had to be some level of civility between them. No matter how Daniel's attitude had changed over the years.


	5. Chapter 5

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 5

They dangled and fluttered from the roadside brush and trees like so many little fairies in the breeze. Drivers riding up the Ribbon's overpass fancied them as little Easter decorations someone set up overnight. The little bundles of tissue flitted in the wind of the passing vehicles, most resembling pretty pre-summer flowers. But when the clean-up crews came, the story twisted into an ugly tale of horror.

Tolomsky dumped a whole box of little bundled tissues on the table for Streetwise, Hotspot and Mrs. Jamison to examine. The Chief downed a glass of water and three Tylenol and pointed at the little wraps. "Guess what they are." He dared.

Streets and Hotspot exchanged a dumbfounded glance then shrugged at the chief. Mrs. Jamison kept a two-foot distance from the table.

The plump lady moved with a steady, sturdy grace, her hands touching only the chairs surrounding the table. "These bear many eyes." She diagnosed. "I can feel many hands . . . but there's . . . a repetition like mirrors or shadows."

"Whaddya mean?" Hotspot asked politely.

"Well . . . I'm not really sure. I'm just saying that there are too many ghosts for what we're seeing." The two Autobots scrutinized her, both trying not to seem rude. She softly chuckled. "I'm sorry. I'm getting shadow receptions here. I can't explain it better than that."

"Guess what's in them." Tolomsky urged.

"Uh . . . ransom notes."

"Not quite. One more time, Streets."

Streetwise tried to scan the bundles, but came up with calcium fiber and dead cells. He shrugged. "Some kind of plant. I dunno, Chief."

Tolomsky grasped one and tore into it and threw the contents on the table. Mrs. Jamison gasped and jumped back, her hand clamped tight over her mouth. "Human finger and toe nails." The chief answered flatly. And I don't mean just the little tips people cut off. These things were pulled by the roots."

Jamison turned away, unable to scream.

Streetwise knelt before the table and poked at the little scattered remains. "Why?" He asked simply. "Why would anybody want to do something like this? How old are they? Where did you find them?"

"On the north-bound overpass on Continental and Greystoke. I've got my boys keeping an eye out for anything else dangling in town. We found these things this morning. I'm hoping we won't have t' find anything more."

"What's the significance of nails?" Streets asked, now totally fascinated. "I mean, Human females decorate their fingernails, from what I've seen. But from what I know, they're more a utility-sort of thing. People do all kinds of things with nails, even pick their-"

"Ahem." Hotspot intervened. "I think the answers might not be in the pieces themselves, Streets. Might wanna look it up elsewhere."

Jamison turned, intentionally trying to keep her eyes off the table. "Right!" She agreed. "He's right! What about that puppet museum you mentioned about two days ago? Would you take me there?"

Streets remembered and produced the thick bundle of hair Hotspot gave him several days ago. He set it on the table and Hotspot nodded both in approval and remembrance.

"What's this?" Tolomsky stretched and picked it up by the string. He instantly saw blood on the tips of the locks, guessing the hair had been ruthlessly extracted from its owner.

"Something Hotspot saved from a fire about thirty miles south of Fort Max." Streets explained.

Hotspot leaned his shoulder to the wall, folding his arms and crossing one leg over the other. Mrs. Jamison maneuvered between he and the table to get a better look at the bundle. "There were whole piles o' those things out there." The Protectobot leader explained. There was something of a clearing and these bundles of hair. Most of the stuff was gone by the time me and Hosehead arrived. There wasn't much to save." Hotspot turned to Tolomsky. "Chief, where did you say you found these?" He pointed to the tissue-encased nails.

"Out on the overpass, headin' north."

"Is that toward I-5?"

"Interstate Highway 5? Yeah. So?"

Hotspot paused a moment. "Well, I know this might not mean nothin'. But when I served with the rangers long time ago, we encountered a group a' savages who tried to muscle in on the new colony. One of the things they did was take bird's claws n' tie them to the area they were laying a claim to. Kinda marking their territory, sorta thing."

Tolomsky stared at Hotspot as though he were an idiot. Then his cellphone bleeped. "Boss." He answered. He paused. "Yeah? Where?" He produced a pad and pen from his pocket and scribbled across it. He turned it around for Streetwise to read:

THEY FOUND ANOTHER CLUMP OF KLEENEXES-299 WEST.

He turned it back around and scribbled more. "Ah-huh." He answered the caller. "You guys seen anybody, any suspects, so much as a dog in the road? When . . . Byron, when'd you guys see this stuff? No shit?" He flipped to a fresh page and scribbled across it and turned it to Streets:

ONE HOUR AGO.

Streets stared at his boss, mandible wide open. Hotspot did not return his stare, his own optics cast upon the table where remnants of several tortured people lay.

"Okay, Byron, you get a Scooby-snack when you boys get home tonight. Be sure to call the clean-up crews. I don't want the fanatics responsible to think we're gonna put up with their litter. Thanks. Boss out." And he snapped the cellphone away. "Okay, Hotspot, you just made a believer outta me. Look, if there's anything else you guys can suggest ahead of time, tribal manhood rites or rain dance rituals, etcetera, I promise I won't laugh anymore."

Hotspot couldn't look him in the eye. Streetwise took to his feet. "I need to do some investigating, Chief. But I might need some clearance to computer files and the like."

"Done. Send me an email if you need anything else. Mrs. Jamison, it's a real privilege to have you helping out. Now, if you fellas 'll excuse me, I need to go eat something and take a nap. Contact me the instant you find something, eh?"

Streets tapped at Groove's door, hoping the demolitionist was in his quarters.

No answer.

"Groove?' He called. "I need to talk to somebody. Are you home?"

The door hissed open and Groove's face thrust itself into Street's, a voracious grin came plastered over his features. "Ye-e-e-e-ss-s-s-?" He inquired. "Did I hear thy melodious voice pierce but the silence of ye old hallway?"

'I did." Streets answered deadpan. "I mean, you did."

"Ah! Then enter, yea, even unto thine own risk." And the Protectobot cackled like an old woman.

Streets took three steps into the mad bot's private quarters and found the place strewn with gadgets and gizmos and bits and pieces of metal casings and tools and detonation devices. In the middle of it all stood a lonely table, burdened with two black bomb casings, the two recovered during the B-street bombing. On a light table sat a small disk, burned to a char, only a few melted wires snaked out from the disk.

"Been busy, I see." Streets observed.

Groove bent over and hugged and petted one of the black bomb cases. "We've been discussing marriage." He answered.

Streets stared at the lunatic, wondering if he was acting or not. "No kids, I hope."

Groove suddenly looked very serious. "Don't you wanna be an uncle?"

"Not in that fashion " he stopped, realizing what kind of idiotic conversation he was being suckered into. "Will you stop that? Look, I came to see how you were coming along on your work."

Groove's optics lit up like a tree at Christmas. "Well! We found an awful lot of things. First of all, these two beauties are, in fact, real bombs. But the hitch is we were supposed to find them."

"What? Supposed to find them? How do you figure?"

"Well, first off, there's no trigger mechanism. The bombs were meant to go off only if an idiot made sure they went off. Secondly, one of them had a little CD sitting in a pocket on the inside of the casing."

Streets about died. "A . . . a message?"

"Well, if that's what you wanna call it." Groove frowned. "It's spoken in a weird alien dialect. Never heard anything like it. I ran all the language programs I could git my hands on for Earth-style lingo and came up zippo. Wanna hear it?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay, here's the movie!"

The room lights died and the video screen flicked on, revealing a puppet, too much like the one found at the mall. Its mouth moved as it spoke:

"Yitic, he tisiv lahs. S-s-s-elbort . . . esssskkisss. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew." And it laughed, an eerie, twisted laugh and repeated: "Doolb ruoy kil liw ew." And the camera made a close up of its face and the eyes seemed to bulge closer to Streetwise. And the puppet drooled. "Doolb ruoy kil liw ew. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew."

"Shut it off, Groove!" Streets couldn't stop the surges that ran up his back. Groove complied, but even after the lights came on, Streets couldn't get the puppet's expression out of his mind. It was lust, pure and true on that face. That's the real reason he hated it so much! The eyes, claiming it saw everything. The maniacal, wicked grin gave the surrealistic puppet a demonic personality. Streets couldn't handle all of what he had seen today. The Human nails, most likely extracted from their owners while still alive had horrified him as it was. The Autobot wasn't sure if he wanted to show the film to Mrs. Jamison, or not. She was visibly upset over the little tissue bundles and he did not want to upset her too much.

But the language sounded too weird, even for an alien language. The sounds were dragged down, and the puppet moaned as it said them, as though . . . oh, no, Streets didn't even want to consider what it sounded like; torture? Torture? Surges raced through him and he longed to find something else to occupy his mind. He shuddered and forced himself to pace about the pig-sty Groove called home. He approached the disk sitting on the light table and Groove leapt over the center table and grinned like a mad man.

"Isn't she a beaut?" He asked.

"I guess. If I knew what it was." Streets mumbled.

"It's a present Springer brought me from the Department of Investigations."

Streets slowly removed his optic sensors from the disk to his Protectobot brother. "This? This is the bomb?"

"Nope. A detonation device. But there's more: this wasn't supposed to be found. We're real super-lucky over this, Streets. See these wires here?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, they were supposed to make the disk-thingy here self-destruct."

"Well, why didn't it?"

"A mechanical malfunction."

"What?"

"Dead batteries."

Streets stared at Groove as though he had just committed blasphemy. "Dead batteries?"

"Yeah, the bozo who put this thing together got cheap and lazy and bought the batteries from the Dollar Tree."

"How do you know that?"

"Cause I've bought the same brand once."

Streets stared at Groove, not sure whether to laugh at him, or give him a look of disgust. He did neither and looked back at the bomb. "What does this tell us, Groove? I mean, what have you learned from it?"

"In a nutshell? It's not simple Human-origin."

"And that means?

"It's part Human ingenuity and part alien technology."

Streets stared at him, unable to think for a moment. He stumbled backwards and fell on his rear, overcome by shock.

Groove meant to catch him as he fell, but missed. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Oh, gawd, Groove!" Streets wailed. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"We're in trouble?"

"It means we're up against a force of unknown origin! It means there's far, far more to this than what we've found! If aliens are involved with this operation, who are they, and what are their motives? Are they indeed connected to the humans devising these terrorist attacks? And if they are, are they physically assisting the Humans, or are they simply supplying 'fuel for the fire?"

The room fell terribly silent. Groove usually worked in silence, sometimes by a radio. But for now, the cluttered room told of a lunatic who enjoyed his work a little too much. Streets laid his hand over his chest, his mind set in a whirlwind of fear and dread.

"I don't feel so good." He finally admitted.

"You've been working too hard on this whole thing." Groove agreed. "Why don't you take a day or two off? Go watch a game with Spots 'n me. Spots wants t' go see a soccer game at the High School this Saturday night and he said I could come along. Of course, I mean to hit the Big Guy up for that new Harley design I want so bad. I think I might be wearing him down finally."

Streets found that bit of amusement medicine to his despair and he managed to gain enough emotional strength to pull himself off the floor. "You really are from another dimension, aren't you, Groove?"

"Nah, just next door." Groove winked.

Taking his brother's advise, Streets put in a request for the rest of the week off. Optimus signed his request first thing that morning and to Street's amazement, Optimus had even sent him three Scooby-Doo laserdiscs with a stern order to unwind and take in a good amount of do-nothing time. Mrs. Jamison had gone home for the remainder of the week, glad of the time needed to spend with her husband and two boys. Streets had said nothing to her of the distressing video presentation and she kept telling him she could sense something bothering him. Finally, he promised to tell her Monday when she would return to Fort Max. He just couldn't say anything about the video; he didn't want to bring up the awful creepy memory. The voice! The horrible . . . demonic voice! It still sent surges up his back and he shuddered even while he, Blades and Groove busily played pool early that Friday afternoon.

Blades had been surprisingly quiet all day, mostly drawn into himself. Groove joked and cackled like an old hag who had lost her mind years ago.

It was Blade's turn to shoot and he aimed, drew back, aimed, drew back and finally stood straight, his brothers both following his moves like a dog watching its owner eat.

"What's a matter, Blades?" Streets asked. "You're . . . nervous."

Blades set his pole over the table's edge and gazed calmly back at the other two Protectobots. "I . . . I promised I wouldn't say anything about the investigation."

"Oh. And?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to say anything."

Groove and Streets both glanced around the room. "I don't think nobody's listening, Blades." Groove confirmed. "Come on, man, you opened yer gapper, out with it."

Blades hesitated a moment, weighing his decision and consequences. "Rrogoche. I did some library checking on the name while I baby-sat at the VR park today. Rrogoche is an Ancient Japanese myth about a demon-god who declared war on the people of Japan centuries ago. The story says that, Rrogoche, a hermaphrodite, is so bloodthirsty that he/she has been known to devour her own children, or in this case, followers."

Streets stared blankly at him. "I'm sorry, Blades. I don't see how that would have anything to do with our case."

"That statue at the museum of puppetry, Streets. That . . . thing that kept staring at me; the museum's curator said that it's believed Rrogoche uses his own blood to bring herself to life. He . . . I don't know."

Streets leaned forward, never seeing Blades quite so distressed before. "Blades?" He asked. His brother actually looked faint.

"He-he." Blades couldn't help his stammering. He knew he babbled like an idiot, but couldn't help himself. "The statue stared at me, Streets. I know it sounds stupid and crazy. But I could feel that thing. The curator said that Rrogoche had six faces and . . .and the bulging eyes and mean smile was one of them: the Watcher."

Streetwise lay on his flat through the night, thinking over and over what Blades had said. He sighed and gazed out his window aiming east toward the rising mountainsides. It was three A.M., according to his chronometer. He should be deep in recharge mode about now, dreaming only of simpler times. But all he could think of was the investigation.

Where were the victims who lost their finger and toe nails? Who were they? Was the Rrogoche Cult responsible for the mass ritual murders? What did six masks have anything to do with it all? And most seriously, who was responsible for the bombings and how were they getting so clean away with it?

Rest simply would not come. Streetwise finally decided to go for a walk. At least he did not have to do anything tomorrow. He could sleep in if he so needed. The Autobot waved hello to a couple of acquaintances on his way out the south-eastern quarters in Fort Max. He transformed and meandered about the city in car mode, trying to just let the questions settle for the time being until he got off vacation. Streets visited the football field located at the western side part of Fort Max. The field really wasn't a part of the city itself, but was built after some incident regarding the Dinobots, no one seemed to really know what the circumstances were regarding its inception. But nearby was a basketball court, visited mostly by the Aerialbots or the EDC staff during their time off. Of course, the court wasn't measured correctly; it was designed to accommodate both Autobots and Humans, and thereby it was half again as tall as regulations called, just so Autobots like . . . Optimus?

Streets pulled to a stop atop the crest looking down into the valley wherein lay the basketball court and after that the football field. The lights were on and one lonely player slammed a ball into the hoop with the ease of a pro. He rebounded as the ball came back and did it again, jumping and slamming as though with each basket he made, he vented a little more frustration into the slam.

He slammed the ball again but this time, simply dangled from the hoop before dropping to his knees, all so obviously exhausted from his exertion. He looked up and beckoned Streets to come down and join him.

Streets felt a little ashamed he had been watching something as private as a one-bot play. He was, however, surprised to see Optimus playing this time of night. Didn't that guy ever take a break?

Streets switched to robot mode and timidly made his way through the short tunnel leading to Human-sized locker rooms and into the courtyard. Optimus had retrieved his ball and bounced it once, then twice.

"Streetwise, what brings you all the way out here this time of night?"

"Nothing." Streets lied.

"Oh?"

"Well, no. I, I couldn't sleep, Optimus. Too many things rolling around in my head."

To his surprise, Optimus softly chuckled and made another shot. "I know that one." The basketball bounced three times before Prime retrieved it and he tossed it to the Protectobot.

Streetwise caught it, not quite knowing what to do with it. Had he been Hotspot, he might have, but Streets was not a sports fan. He felt like an idiot. Optimus beckoned him to toss the spheroid back and the Autobot complied. Prime bounced it, turning and swinging once before making another perfect shot. Then he paused, dribbling the ball. Then he caught it and held it for a long moment, studying the Protectobot. "What's really bothering you, Streetwise?" He asked softly.

"It's the whole thing, Optimus. Nothing seems to fit right. I mean, I have a whole list of things, but like pieces to three different puzzles, nothing's fitting right. I mean, nothing seems to relate to another. I have clues that say murder. I have clues that say ritual murder. And I have other clues that suggest something completely different; alien involvement and it's driving me crazy. It's like I have too many fragments and not enough glue."

"I know." Prime sighed himself. "They've been sweeping over the building of Investigations over the past few days and other than what Groove has been given, we've found nothing, not so much as fingerprints."

"And that's the other thing that's driving me bonkers. We can't so much as identify any suspects. You'd think that by now we'd have something. But no body knows where the bombs are coming from. It's not like someone has taken a trip to Tennessee and picked up a bag of manure and made a bomb out of it. Groove's having a hay-day over the bombs the police gave him from B-street."

"He found something." Prime assumed.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Your expression."

Streets wasn't sure what to say to that. He rushed and grabbed the ball from Prime and slammed a shot into the basket, dangling on the rim. He hung there, slightly swinging. "That's very therapeutic." he observed.

Prime only smiled. He retrieved the ball and bounced it once. "You still have tomorrow off. You're not going back to the case already, are you, Streetwise?"

"No, sir. Hotspot and Groove are going to a high school soccer game. I think I'll go with them. Get some fresh air."

Prime bounced the ball again. "Good idea."

Streets watched his leader for a moment longer. Optimus cut himself off just then. Streets had hoped he'd be able to talk a little more intimately with Prime, but as usual, the Autobot leader shut himself off. The Protectobot dropped to the ground. "Why don't you join us, Optimus? I think it would do you some good too."

Prime gazed at him for a long moment then bounced the ball again. He held it then gazed at the sky stretching over them like a black canvass. "No. I can't. Too many things to do. Rodimus is still trying to get things settled in New York. We're having serious problems with inventory and the Chapronite Ambassador is supposed to visit us some time soon."

"Chapronite?" Puzzlement twisted the Autobot's face and then he lit up: "Oh, those aliens who don't have anything resembling a head, huh?"

"Heh, affirmative."

Streets meekly nodded, sorry he had nothing to say in return. He smiled. "Thanks, Optimus."

Prime looked back at him, bouncing the ball one more time. "Things will work out, Streetwise. Give it time. Let things fall where they may."

No expression. Optimus wasn't trying to give him platitudes, but the expression was distant, aloof. A wall had come between Streets and Optimus and Streetwise felt cold inside. No wonder everyone complained about Prime! He would come so close to 'opening up' and then he'd clam up tighter than a steel vice! But, the Protectobot digressed, if Optimus formed close relationships with everyone, he'd get nothing done. The Protectobot forgave his leader's sudden coldness and smiled again. "Good night, Optimus."

"Good night, Streetwise."

Aerlene Jamison had spent three wonderful relaxing days with her husband and two boys. But there was so much she had neglected during the investigation that it took her two days just to catch up on house work and bills. She caught up on her reading and took a little time out to get her hair done. If nothing else, being on the case with Streets helped her family's income by leaps and bounds. Cameron didn't always like her working so hard and so long. He liked it better when Aerlene was home, baking or painting or embroidering. But he never threatened her about the work she would do for private investigators; it brought in good money. But it sometimes left her frazzled.

Which is why he would encourage her to spend her money at she saw fit. He brought in enough to support the family, but the extra amount was, naturally, always welcomed.

Aerlene took her time traversing down the sidewalk along the newly-constructed building on Mason Ave. It amused her to note how no sooner would the terrorists blow up a building, than the city would put a new one up in its place. She really didn't bother to figure out whether the new building was an office structure, or a new apartment complex. But there it stood: rising a good fourteen stories high. The complex was surrounded by a chain link fence to keep the trouble-makers out. But from the looks of the area, construction crews had not touched their project for weeks.

Probably a hold-up in the finances department, the lady thought briefly. She reached the corner and was about to cross the streets at the green light when she slammed into an invisible shield. She stepped back, confused. Jamison set her hand out and carefully pushed the air.

Nothing.

She proceeded forward, but again she ran into an unseen wall. She felt around with her hand again, and still felt nothing. She turned away, puzzled. What could be wrong? She turned left and traveled down that sidewalk and proceeded to cross B street. Again, she slammed into an invisible wall just before her foot stepped down. She backed away, confused. So she tried to go up the B-street walkway until she hit Jackson Ave. There she once again tried to cross the street and something else kept her from touching the black top. She searched the sky above her. "Excuse me!" She shouted to no one. "I would like to cross the street!"

She waited. Two beats. And she tried again and found the problem had not changed. The psychic sighed irritably and spun about to head back to B-street and Mason when her eyes caught a new color on the building. She looked to her left and watched as the second floor window openings bled. She caught her breath and ran around the three fronts of the building, finding the same thing. She plucked her cellphone out of her purse.

"Hi," she greeted the police receptionist. "My name is Aerlene Jamison, I'm working on the bomb case. Can you let me speak to Chief Tolomsky? Well, I guess I'd be willing to wait, but you really should tell him that I've found several dead people "

She didn't have to say anything more. In fifteen minutes, the down town traffic was detoured away from Mason and B-street, Streetwise, Groove and Blades were called out on the scene and Ultra Magnus was well on his way.

Emergency crews started pulling bodies out, one or two at a time; a total of twenty-nine people were hanging from the ceiling in the new building like slabs of meat. Groove and a couple of techs searched the building high and low for bombs, but nothing indicated there was such a thing.

"I don't like this." Streets snarled. "It seems too easy."

"How'sat?" Tolomsky asked, downing a gulp of orange juice.

"Well, she found those bodies too easily. Why's that when we couldn't find the bombs until it was too late?"

"Dunno. Hey, hey, Don, would ya check one or two of those poor souls for lost finger and toe nails? Thanks." Tolomsky finished his orange juice and crushed the paper carton. "Groove there sent the department a copy of that freak video disk over ICQ yesterday. Seems we got our work cut out for us."

Streets turned away, sickened by the thought of the video. "I hated that thing."

"Yeah. I didn't like it either. Spooky. I had a couple of the girls in the office do a check on it, y'know, like we would a lost or stolen item. Turns out the dang thing originates in Okinawa."

"Japan?"

"Well, not Japan, but close to it."

"What about the language?"

"Yeah, I hated that, too."

'Dan' approached Tolomsky with a clipboard. The Chief of Police glanced at the clipboard and rummaged through ten Polaroid photos. "Yup. Here's our poor souls, Streets. They're all missing nails."

"This is gruesome, Chief." Streetwise shuddered with the surges, "I don't know how you can be so calm."

"Calm? You want calm? Go talk to that wonderful lady who found this!" Tolomsky's celphone bleeped. "Boss." He answered. "What? What? Shit! Well can't he find someone else to babysit him? I got a problem out here. What? Shhh . . . alright. I'm on my way. Hey, get Thayer out here, OTD. Tell him I want photos and keep the news hounds outta this!" He flipped the phone off and tucked it away, swearing.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Streets' question drew Blade's attention.

"Ahhh . . . someone sent the department a present. I gotta go take a gander at it, see what's got Updegraff's panties all wet. Geeze, I hate those kinda surprises!"

Mrs. Jamison approached Tolomsky, her face pale with horror. "Then . . . this was a diversion! This whole thing; we've been set up!'

"Looks that way, Mrs. Jamison." Tolomsky snarled.

Jamison gazed at Streetwise. "Who are these people? Why are they doing this?"

Tolomsky only shook his head.

Gregory Sacci, an everyday-of-the-mill clerk for the Sheriff's department sat at his desk, sneaking in an e-memo to his wife. He giggled silently while he input a card with a little tune and animated dancing flower. She would love this at work.

The postman stepped to his desk and deposited the usual rigmarole mail; the light bill, a few political ads and the postage bill. The postman was about to walk away when he clumsily tripped over a garbage can. He fell flat on his face and a box the size of a coffee maker slipped out of his grip. Gregory jumped to his aid and swept up the spilled letters and the box.

The mailman pulled himself up and brushed off a ruffled uniform. Thanks, Greg." He smiled.

Greg, a usually quiet fellow, turned the box over and found it addressed to the "Police Department at Large".

"I'll go ahead and take this one up, Stan. Wife and kids?"

"Okay, so far. Jenny's sorta shook up with the bombing incidents, begging me to come home in one piece at night."

"Yeah. Sometimes it's hard to come to work. Hey, have a nice day, eh?" And the clerk made his way upstairs to Lieutenant Updegraff's office and tapped the door.

Updegraff was a no-nonsense sort who had little patience for people. He didn't like Tolomsky, but grudgingly had to credit the Chief for keeping the department from falling to pieces. He took the suspicious box and stared at the clerk. "Think it might be something we don't want?"

"A bomb? Well, it fell on the floor downstairs. The mailman fell over the waist basket."

Updegraff frowned and proceeded to open the box. The wrapping was standard brown paper. The under wrapping made both men jump away from the desk, but it was Updegraff who vomited. Sacci grabbed the phone and dialed the dispatcher. "Lee, yaw gotta get the chief here ASAP! Cause we found something, that's why! Get him here! NOW!"

Tolomsky arrived at the station after filling a few sentences in his journal. He tromped up the eight steps into the police station and greeted an insanely frenzied atmosphere. A sea of people clambered over one another, the noise rose and lowered like ocean tides. Phones rang constantly, three TV's competed for attention and everyone's computer spat out data as fast as it was inputted.

Ultra Magnus traversed through the late afternoon traffic in the city. Everyone and their grandmother was out today. Things to do, places to go, errands to perform. The city commander himself was heading toward the I.G. building to meet the Chapronite ambassadors when they landed on the rooftop from their spacecraft.

Traffic. Gotta love it.

Tolomsky said his usual hellos, teasing Emily, who had been with the department for over sixteen years. He asked her about Warburton and his new son. He asked her about Halverson and his fiancé; if they were still planning a honeymoon in Japan. The Chief made his way through the rows of call-supporters and dispatchers, arriving at the clerk's station, greeting Rachel and Norma. Then he trudged upstairs.

Ultra Magnus met up with Sideswipe, out on an afternoon history assignment to Mrs. O'Rey's second grade class at Antelope Elementary.

They stopped at a red light and waited. Sideswipe's attention waned while Magnus took in the curious sight of a set of twins crossing the street. They looked alike in every way, right down to the style of dress. He found it amusing how twins were so terribly uncommon among his people. Even the clones, stationed at Fort Sagittarius, had their obvious differences. A city bus turned the corner at the green light and moved some ways ahead. Then their light turned green and Magnus and Sideswipe pressed forward, taking their time with the traffic.

Tolomsky had his fill of female flirting, the waving of hands or flapping of paper in greeting by the guys who returned his attention by tossing smiles or jokes his way. He climbed the stairs and really hoped the package was not more than a piece of paper written in bad grammar and dirty pictures. He entered the office where Updegraff looked faint. He kept staring out his window, his eyes wide. Sacci shuddered and tried to drink a cup of water with a slightly shaky hand.

"'K, fellas." Tolomsky took in a deep breath. "Sounds like this could be really ugly. You wanna show it to me?"

Updegraff shook his head and kept staring out the window. He wanted no part of it, whatever it was. Taking that cue, Sacci pulled the package out from under the desk and set it on the pre-opened paper.

Shock seized Tolomsky and he stood there, staring at it. A box covered in what was obviously cured Human skin. He approached the desk and wanted to touch it, but wasn't sure if he should or not.

Finally, the chief decided staring in shock was going to get nothing done. He pulled out a pocket knife and proceeded to open the box.

"No!" Sacci cried. "You can't do that!"

"What?" Tolomsky asked bluntly.

"It's . . . it's Human skin, sir."

"Oh? Think I was born yesterday?"

"But . . . it's from someone who died."

"Yeah, seems that way. Does that make the box holy, or something?"

"Well, it's just that . . . it's sacrilegious, sir."

"Tell you what, kid. I suggest you phone the terrorists who just packaged twenty-nine bodies down town, removed their innards and their finger and toe nails and tell them they're sacrilegious. I'm here to find out who these assholes are so I can pull the whole town back together again. You gotta problem with that?"

"No. No, sir."

With that, Tolomsky sliced open the skin-bounded box.

Magnus and Sideswipe traveled a good quarter mile through town. Cars came and went, weaving in and out of traffic. The city bus slowed and changed lanes to the right. Then it suddenly slammed on its brakes.

Tolomsky opened the box and found a toy bus. Inside the topless bus sat six puppets, each with a different face. One face looked frighteningly familiar. Tolomsky recalled it . . . the face on the puppet at the mall. He glanced at the clerk, then at Updegraff. "Jedson? Jed, will you please pull yourself together and take a gander at this?"

Updegraff swallowed his fear and horror and turned around, staring at the Playskool bus filled with home-made puppets and masks. He rounded the desk, trying to be as objective as possible. "What the f . . ."

Tolomsky stared at him.

"That one?" Updegraff pointed to the first puppet. "Ain't that one from the mall?"

The bus came to a screeching halt, its breaks squealing as though fear had possessed its metal chassis. Several people sprang from the cars surrounding it. Masks and dark tights concealed their faces from the world, their masks all using the very same expression: a simplified smiling face painted red on yellow paper mache. They hauled out shot gun rifles and riddled the bus with lasers and bullets. Ultra Magnus and Sideswipe screeched to a halt, all traffic collided with one another as drivers gasped and swallowed air and slammed on their breaks, seeing the two Autobots suddenly jump to their feet. Magnus and Sideswipe fired at the attackers, killing five and six of them, wounding one. Sideswipe picked that one up and was nearly singed by the guy's weapon. He pulled the weapon away from the attacker and calmly walked away. Magnus called for back up and emergency crews, knowing there was going to be a really big mess. He checked the bus for survivors, only finding one baby, still alive in his dead mother's arms.

Tolomsky hovered over the package and stared intently at the bus and noticed the words on the sides had been painted: CAMTS (Central(city)And (Fort) Max Transit System). He frowned and thought it over, considering the puppets, the familiar face at the front then turned to Updegraff. "Jed, you don't think they're making a statement a' some kind here, do you?" His cellphone went off.

"Boss." He greeted. He fell silent for six seconds then: "Shit!"

"What?" Updegraff asked.

"The city busses have just been attacked."

Sideswipe brought the only prisoner to the police department. Detectives and officers dashed in and out of the detention cell while they gathered information, filled paperwork and verified Sideswipe's story with Ultra Magnus who was currently assisting emergency crews in untangling the mess downtown. Chaos re-erupted and people dashed back and forth in a frenzy of panic and stress. Three people finally had to request leave for the remainder of the day as the stress levels escalated.

A total of five busses had been reported hit before some other officer finally brought in another survivor, a very frightened little girl who had been grazed with a bullet across her head.

Investigators dragged their only suspect into a conference room, hoping to pump him with every question conceivable. But the punk only smiled, "Yitic, he tisiv lahs. S-s-s-elbort . . . esssskkisss. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew."

The investigators swore at him and one suggested bringing in the chief. But at the moment, Tolomsky was busy talking to the little girl they brought in. Disgusted, the officers put him away for the remainder of the day.

Even with the advent of the bus attacks, Optimus did not allow Streetwise back on the case until he had at least one more night off. Optimus decided to handle the necessary assistance himself, lending whatever services the police department required from substituting over-stressed workers and dispatchers with EDC officers and Autobots to more aggressive Autobot inter-city patrol units.

Grateful, Streetwise complied and went to the soccer game with Grove and Hotspot. And just as he said he would, Grove pestered and prodded Hotspot with the Harley Davison idea. One way or another, he was 'gonna be Americana', as the Nutcase proudly put it. Streets only shook his head and watched as two girls dashed across the lawn, the ball in their control, the rest of the players chased after them. The Cascade Samurai were better known for their football than their soccer team, but that didn't matter to Hotspot. Sports was sports, one team pitted against another in fair combat.

The girls made a good score and the crowd rose for an applause-for once, the Samurai were making Swiss cheese out of the Portland High Panthers. As the crowd settled down while the game reset for another pitch, Streets caught sight of a set of twins leaning over the rail post, gazing out the field, pointing and scanning each of the players. He smiled, never really seeing twins before. He nudged Groove. "There," he said via their internal commline. He pointed at the rail. "See them?"

Groove activated his zoom lenses, taking more than a good close-up. "Ah, yeah. Cool! Hey, y' know, I was talkin' t' Tripcord yesterday afternoon and he said he'd seen some twins-two pairs out at the Building of Investigation just b'fore it blew."

Streetwise lost all expression. He stared at the two guys and right before his optics, a pair of binoculars appeared from nowhere and floated in the air, just as though someone were using them. The Protectobot switched his own vision, zooming in on the sight. He couldn't believe what he wasn't seeing! He tapped Groove's shoulder, tapping harder and harder.

"Yeah!" Groove came back over their internal commlines. "I'm seein' it, but I'm not seeing it! What on Earth is going on around here?"

"Wanna go up and ask them?"

The two Autobots glanced at one another in agreement and carefully stepped their way around people while traffic came and went between them and their destination. They came to the spot, only, no twins. No binoculars. Nothing but somebody's kid brother who stared up at Streetwise with wide eyes. Streets glanced at the six year-old boy. "You haven't seen any set of twins or a pair of binoculars floating by themselves, have you, kid?"

The blonde boy only shook his head.

Streets frowned. "Thanks, guy." And he took off, leaving little Jeremy Addler with the decision to become an Autobot psychologist.

Saturday morning found Quasar tapping at Street's quarters. She rang for his attention again and after waiting for another six minutes, was rewarded with an opened door. But Streets wasn't there. He sat at his terminal, punching the 'next' button and examining the news archives. "Hi." He grunted.

"You and I are supposed to be at the mall today." She reminded.

"I know." He mumbled.

She waited for a better reaction, but didn't get one. "Streets, if you're so interested in news, just plug in and get an instant download.'

"No. I need to sift through stuff. I don't want an automatic feed.'

"What are you looking for?"

"Pictures with sets of twins."

"Why?"

"Oh . . . just a thought last night while I was at the game."

She sat down in another chair and stared expectantly at him.

"I think I have another piece to the puzzle, Quas. But I dunno if it's what I'm hoping it is or not."

"Have you discussed this with Prime or Roddi?"

"No. I tried contacting them, but they're both really busy. Something about that Witwicky girl, or other. Guess she got into some trouble. But that's just an assumption. You know how those two are about her; she's their own private life, I guess." He gasped. "What's this?" He zoomed in and sure enough, there were two sets of twins standing behind a photo taken just after the bombing incident at the mall. Streets tried to get a closer look and better resolution. Surges shot across his back. "This is too eerie, Quas. I dunno what to make of it."

"What's so weird about twins?"

"The fact that somehow there were two sets seen by Tripcord at the Building of Investigations before it was bombed. And last night, me and Groove both saw two sets a' guys staring at the players . . . Oh Primus."

"What? What's wrong?"

Streets didn't bother to answer her. He tapped something else into the computer. "Hey, Blaster?" He asked out loud. "Could you patch me inta Chief Tolomsky?"

"I'll give it a go." The Communications officer promised.

"Boss." Tolomsky's voice grunted into his cellphone.

"Chief?"

"Heeeyy! Streets! You comin' in today?"

"Yeah. Hey, has anyone filed a missing person's report since last night?"

"Jesus! Are you becoming psychic, too?"

"Wh-why?"

"Mrs. Jamison called and asked the same thing. She said she was up all night with night terrors. We got fifteen people missing."

Streets cussed in his native language. "I'm coming in right now."

Quasar took to her feet as Streets downloaded the computer info onto a digipad, took a couple gulps of energon and swept up a small scanner.

"I guess this means I get to solo the mall today, hu?" She asked gloomily.

He gave her a light smile. "Why don'tcha ask Springer? He could use something more to do than mope around."

She smiled in agreement, left the room and transformed into an anti-grav land cruiser. Streetwise aimed in the opposite direction, transformed and shot out of the building.

Police investigators unlocked the cell containing their only suspect. Considering themselves pretty darn lucky, the two officers mentally armed themselves with all the questions, bargaining tools and recording equipment they felt necessary to pump the punk of information. But upon opening the door all they found was a very dead 'punk', his wrists torn by his own teeth and a message on the wall written in his own blood:

AND GRIEF SHALL REIGN OVER THE CITY.


	6. Chapter 6

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 6

Rusti ran as fast as she could down the block and over two houses then waited for the city bus to make its stop. She didn't have a watch, so she stepped into the brush and waited. It wasn't a long wait. She pulled change from her back pack and boarded the bus to mid-town, hoping to catch another bus out to Fort Max. Everyone, including the old driver, stared at her for some reason. She tried to ignore them and slipped next to a window. She could still feel eyes all over her and she shrank into her seat.

A punker asked her a question but Rusti couldn't hear him. She just stared distantly out the window, wishing everyone would leave her alone.

After a moment, the bus moved on. She somehow wished she could get the driver to make the bus go faster. She huddled, staring out at the four neighborhoods that preceded Central City's down town area. She never realized just how far outside of town they lived.

The day's events rolled around in her head like a bad, repetitious song. Nobody cared how mean Brian was. Nobody cared whether or not she hurt. Just as long as her stupid grades weren't affected. Stupid grades! If they were so goddamned worried about the grades they should do the homework!

Her entire room was thrashed. Some of her seashell collection had been smashed, carelessly stepped on. Three pieces to her dew fairy collection had been broken and two of her wall posters were ripped in half. What was Brian's problem, anyway? The idiot couldn't have his own way, so he decided to make everyone else miserable. What a freakin' jerk!

Suddenly the bus stopped in the middle of traffic, thrusting its passengers forward in their seats. Rusti heard several people ask questions, a couple cussed the driver for not paying attention. But when she peeked out her window, Rusti spotted three people in masks, bearing rifles aiming at the bus. She gulped air and ducked between seats just before the bus' windows were shattered by a rain of bullets. She crouched, hiding her head as the shattering glass made horrible piercing sounds and the other passengers cried out and screamed, then one by one were silenced. Pops and snaps followed that and Rusti tried to make her way toward the center isle, but flinched when the occupant in front of her fell over, several holes bore into the side of her head. Rusti withdrew and sat on the floor between the seats, covering her face.

The rain ended and something pounded the sides and shook the bus so that it rocked side to side, but the bus did not tip over. Then in the distance, sirens wailed and all fell frighteningly silent. The girl thought she could count the seconds as they stretched and she forgot to breathe. She remained frozen, unable, unwilling to move. Who was there? Were they waiting to kill her, too? Then someone pounded on the door.

"Hey, is everyone okay?" Some man's voice called out.

It was a trick. The attackers were just making sure there were no survivors. The woman's head stopped bleeding, but she didn't move. Rusti didn't dare even breathe.

"Oh, Goad on high." The man moaned.

"Okay, people, let's back up here, let the professionals . . . ohmigod. Okay, let's back up here, folks."

It must have been a police officer who took over. But she couldn't be sure. Rusti remained crouched on the floor, wishing to Primus she could just go Home.

"Uh . . . this is Peter-24, Home base. Looks like a twenty-nine forty-three. You'd better get an ambulance here. Jesus, Todd."

And an average-sized man with silver hair came into Rusti's view. "Oh, gawd." He breathed. He knelt in front of her and Rusti realized that she was shaking terribly. She couldn't move.

"Hi there, Sweetheart." He said soothingly. "Are you hurt?"

She choked. Of all things to ask her! Of course she wasn't okay! And Rusti started to cry. It was too much. First that counselor bitch then Brian now this. It was just too much.

"Come here, Baby." He called. "Uncle Peter'll take you home. Come on."

"I wanna go Home." She wept.

Peter nodded. "We'll take you home." He promised.

She feebly held her hands out and he pulled her close then swept her up. "Close your eyes, Sweety. Can you do that for me? Close your eyes."

She obeyed and clung to him for dear life. He stepped over something several times before handing her to someone else. "This is Peter-24. We have one survivor. Repeat, one survivor, female, eight or nine years in age. We have approximately fifteen other passengers . . ."

Rusti didn't hear anything else as her eyes were kissed by outside light. She opened them as the second officer handed her over to someone else, her feet never touching the ground. She watched as emergency crews pulled three bodies out of the bus. The third officer tucked her into the front seat of the car and she watched as they unloaded bodies. The windows had been obliterated. Bullet holes peppered the outer hull.

The officer slid into his seat, jotted something down on a notepad and strapped himself in. "Hi." He called her attention away as the crew carried out two more victims.

She finally stared at him, her breath coming in little gasps. "Hi." She whispered.

"My name is Teddy."

A smile creased her face. He was lying, but it was cute.

"That's my real name, too. He turned slightly in his seat and flashed a badge. "See?"

Sure enough, the badge said 'Teddy-92'

"What's your name?"

"Rusti."

He blanched. "Wow! An Autobot's name!"

That set a grin across her face. Somebody knew!

"Well, Rusti, have you ever ridden in a police car before?"

"No." Her voice came very soft.

"Well, this is a special emergency car and we're going blare a siren all through town just to get you to the station faster than two shakes of a beaver's tail. Does that sound like fun to you?"

She nodded. Cold had settled over her body and she shivered.

"Cold?" He asked. "Of course you are. We're going to go to the police station and . . ." he reached under the seat and swept a blanket for her ". . . get you some hot chocolate and see if we can't locate your folks, okay?" He set the blanket about her. Rusti just couldn't do anything for herself at this point.

He blared the sirens and rolled the car away from the crowd while emergency crews took out five more people.

The police station resembled a war room. People shouted over one another. Phones rang off the hook, three TVs were going on at the same time. Computers were receiving and sending data. Radio transmissions went crazy. Someone shouted from the back of the room and cops came and went like autumn leaves in a hurricane wind. Somewhere along the line Rusti thought she heard someone mention three other busses had been shot, most all the passengers were killed.

Teddy carried her in through the madness into a room and closed the door. He was joined two minutes later by two other men. One turned on a recorder atop the nearby file cabinet, the other offered her a small white paper cup of hot chocolate and a woman came in after and swiftly checked her for abrasions.

Teddy laid a hand on her shoulder. "Rusti, I'd like you to meet Chief Tolomsky and this is Dotti, our local battle angel and that's Lt. Greys. Everyone, I'd like you to meet Rusti."

They all said hello in unison. But Rusti only waved her fingers. She couldn't stop quaking inside.

Dotti took up a chair and sat in front of Rusti, trying to gently dab a cotton over her forehead. Rusti startled, having forgotten all about her impact with the table.

"Did you get this nasty boo-boo on the bus, Rusti?" Dotti asked.

"No!" Rusti started crying again and she shook terribly. She dropped her hot chocolate and bent over, crying.

Dotti jumped from her chair as the cup spilled its contents. But the silly adults ignored the spill.

"No?" she asked in disbelief.

"Somebody broke into our house and destroyed everything! All the couch cushions were ripped up and somebody tore my bedroom apart."

"Christ." Tolomsky swore softly.

"I was coming home from school and the house was unlocked and it was a mess and - and my room was all messed up and there were holes in the wall and the phone rang and it was my mom and I tried to tell her but Brian took the phone away from me and Dezi came in "

"Honey, honey." Dotti tried to sooth her. Rusti was reaching hysteria. "Let's calm down a little bit, okay?"

"But . . . Brian's friends were there and Brian attacked Dezi and she threw him out the window."

The adults stared at her in disbelief.

Dotti recovered. "Dezi . . . your sister?"

"Yes."

"Is Brian her boyfriend?"

"No. My brother. Dezi says he's a deadhead. All I wanted to do was go see Optimus and Mom and Dad wouldn't let me go see him and Roddi and those guys came into our house-"

"Optimus Prime?" Tolomsky asked breathlessly. "Rusti, what's your last name, Hon?"

"Witwicky."

Lt. Greys whistled behind Tolomsky. "I'm on it." And he fled the room.

"Mom and Dad left for Florida." Rusti explained. Dotti applied a bandage to her forehead.

"And do you have any other relatives here in town?"

"Aunt Delphra's in Nevada. Mom said to call Aunt Missy in case of emergencies."

Tolomsky laid a heavy hand on Rusti's little shoulder. "Well, I'd say someone thrashing your house constitutes an emergency, wouldn't you?"

She merely nodded, still shaking.

Greys slipped back into the room. "Prime said he's on his way. He'll take the girl back with him."

Rusti bent over and cried in relief. Optimus was coming to rescue her!

It didn't take long, either. Optimus was always very punctual. The minute Rusti stepped out, she spotted Marissa Fairborne and ran into her arms. 'Aunt Missy' swept her up and hugged the frightened child.

"She's one hell of a smart kid." Tolomsky's voice managed to cut through the madness of the station.

Optimus came in, followed by Streetwise. Prime knelt behind Marissa and ever so carefully swept Rusti's hair from her face. /Rusti./ he called.

/He was going to kill me, Optimus/ she lifted her head from Missy's shoulder and her heart raced.

/Shhh. We're taking you home, now. Don't be afraid./

Rusti hugged Marissa, wishing she were Optimus for the moment. Missy patted the girl's back and shushed her down.

Prime stepped over them and walked to the other side of the room with Tolomsky.

"What happened?" The Autobot leader asked once they were out of Rusti's earshot.

"We found her on the city bus. Thought she was a lucky survivor, you know. We were going to ask her for details then she spills all this stuff about their house being torn up and her brother attacking her." Tolomsky gulped his coffee. "Got a couple of my boys lookin' about. They haven't gotten back to us yet. The kid said her sister threw their brother out the front window. If that's true, I'm hiring her."

Prime nodded. "I'll send Captain Fairborne back to the city with Rusti and I'll stay here until you've heard from Dezi."

It wasn't necessary. A young guy stood from his desk and held a phone aloft. "Chief?" He called. "There's a girl on the phone for you, says her name's Dezi Witwicky and that her house's been thrashed and her sister's missing."

Tolomsky bounced his expression at Prime and hauled out a cellphone, punched two numbers that patched him into the same line. "Tolomsky." He answered. "Yeah, everything's alright, Dezi. We have your sister here at the station. I've already dispatched a patrol out to your place. Yeah, Prime's here, said he's willing to wait until we brought you here. Oh. Well, no, we really need you to file a report. No, Hon. You have to, by law, file a report. Where's your brother? Ah-hu. Ah-hu. Okay. Well, you just take a ride with Frames and Jackson back here and I'll see to it that you're taken to your girlfriend's house, howzat? Yeah. Yeah, we're trying to contact your folks right now. Okay. Okay, Dezi. Yeah. Okay. We'll see you in a few."

He deactivated the phone and stared up at the Autobot. "Kid says she wants to stay with a friend. She said she's messed up her brother pretty badly and called an ambulance. So, if you wanna stay and hear what she says, that'd be fine."

Optimus glanced back at the little girl who clung to Marissa for dear life. He could go ahead and send Marissa back to town with Rusti, but . . . that was actually his place. Responsibility to stay and listen in. Responsibility to a little girl. From the corner of his optic, Prime noted how Sideswipe pumped a couple of dispatchers for answers regarding the other four-bus attacks. He could feasibly leave Sideswipe here.

That was settled. "I'm leaving Sideswipe here, then." He finally answered.

Tolomsky pointed a finger at Prime, the rest of his hand wrapped a fresh cup of coffee. "We'll keep things updated 'nd send 'em to ya as they come in."

Rusti said nothing as Prime made his way to Fort Max. The mountains and trees parted for them as the winding road straightened and curved three more times before they came to the eastern city entrance. Optimus could have just as easily gone through the north gate, which is right where EDC's offices and living quarters were located. Rusti failed to guess that he was taking her to Central Command where all the head offices were located.

/Russs-ti./ he practically breathed her name.

All she could do was lean against the door as he slowed to ten miles an hour. She paid no attention to the towering buildings, the spiraling roadways that zipped up and down between two levels that made Fort Max. Fort Max had undergone a great deal of change in the last twenty-five years. He was more of a city than a battle fortress. Rusti never could picture Max transforming into a robot and in the last twenty-five years, he had not. But all the wonderful pieces of architecture and marvelous wonders of the entertainment district, the large grounds reserved for officer training and Central Command itself failed to impress Rusti's shock-absorbed mind.

"Rusti?" Prime whispered. "I think it a good idea we have you medically checked. Would that be alright with you?"

He pulled up in front of Central and she stirred, but slowly. Her movements came with such effort! "'K." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. She opened the door and moved to step out when Optimus transformed before her feet touched the metal plating. He swept her little form into his hands and held her close.

Nothing registered. She knew what was going on and normally she'd be so happy and excited to finally be home! But exhaustion had driven her to the point of spiritlessness. She didn't think she even had enough strength to argue if her parents suddenly showed up and took her home.

Oh, gawd, they were most likely on their way home right now! And soon they'd take her home and she'd not be with Optimus anymore! She covered her face, her body picking up Optimus' body heat and the soft vibrations of his laser core.

They went up Central's second floor and Dr. Hanson's office. She was about to leave for the day when Prime set Rusti on the desktop and just stared at the mid-aged woman.

The dark-skinned woman batted her eyes and set her purse back on the chair. "Didn't want to deal with Cynyr's attitude today, eh, Prime?" She asked straight out.

Optimus didn't answer. He knelt at the desk and held Rusti's hand with his finger. Rusti stared at the floor, knowing Optimus was scanning her life signs. Hanson sighed and pulled a hand scanner from the top drawer of her desk. She rounded the front and waved the scanner in front of the girl two and three times, changing the scanner's frequency with each pass. She made a cursory exam of the wound on Rusti's forehead, then checked her lymph nodes. Puzzlement crossed her face.

"Hon, have you been sick lately?"

Rusti couldn't look her in the eye, now.

Hanson and Prime met glances and Hanson set the scanner up against Rusti's neck. "A slight temperature." She reported. "When was the last time you ate?"

Rusti weakly shrugged.

"Well, according to my scan, there's been some swelling around the brain. Her pressure's too high and her blood sugar is low.

Rusti raised her eyes, grateful Optimus had not let go of her hand. "My nose bled a few days ago." She finally answered.

"Headaches?"

"Yes."

Hanson lifted Rusti's left eyelid and flashed a light into her eye. "Slow reaction. I think we should take a closer look. But give this girl something to eat and have her sleep, just to make sure we're not getting wrong readings." Hanson reached across the desk and swept up her purse. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Thank you, Doctor." Optimus watched as she left the room. "As for you, young lady, the doctor ordered you to eat something."

Optimus stayed right with her the remainder of the evening. He had to do everything for her from ordering soup to finding a place for her to sit and eat. At first she sighed and just stared at the soup. Cream of broccoli wasn't that bad a selection but Rusti didn't think she could eat anything. It was nice, though, that Optimus sat there with her, very silent. No digipads in his hands. No one gabbing in his audios. No planning the following day's schedule. Just he and she.

_Is the soup the wrong flavor? _he asked.

_No._ she frowned. She dipped the spoon in it and let the excess run off. It was kinda fun watching it run down the spoon and disappear into the bowl. Kinda. Not much.

An uneasy silence hung heavily between them. Optimus sat on the floor with his legs crossed, just watching her stare at the soup. _Did you want me to blow on it?_

A smile broke across her otherwise sad little face. Optimus had a way of sounding so serious when making a joke. Some people took him far too seriously; they really didn't know when he was 'goofing off' as he'd put it. Rusti finally took her first spoonful followed by another. Now she was hungry.

"We don't have any clothes for you, Rusti." Prime piped.

She shrugged. "We can just wash what I have on, I guess."

"Or we can send someone out to get you other clothes."

"'K."

"Or, we could just wash what you have on, let you run around the city with a fresh coat of paint."

She eyed him. "Something Roddi would say, Optimus."

"Yes, I know." He answered, glad she was finally coming out of her dispirited state. "I stole it from him."

"You've been around him too much."

"Hmm. Or not often enough." He countermanded. "You'd think I'd come up with something a little more original."

"Are you making fun of yourself?"

He swept up a napkin from the table and dabbed at her chin. "It made you smile, didn't it?"

She frowned remembering the state of mind she had been in until now. Optimus leaned forward and brushed her blood red hair with his finger. "Somewhere under all that sadness is a lost little girl."

It was a match to the fuel. Rusti dropped her spoon in the soup and covered one side of her face and started to cry. "It was so awful, Optimus." She lamented. "None of this would have happened if they had just let me come see you."

"I know." His voice came soft, soothing. He picked up another napkin and handed it to her. She accepted it and blew her nose. "I don't understand Brian at all. He's acting so weird."

"Rusti." Prime cut in, "Let's talk about that tomorrow. You need food and sleep. She brushed her tears and took several more spoonfuls of soup. Now she was starting to taste it.

Optimus sat with her in endless patience like a body guard, or rather, a loving friend.

Rusti finished most of the soup and pushed the bowl away. She folded her arms on the table and glanced at the EDC cafeteria, not really paying much attention to the paintings and weapons mounted on its walls. There were framed biography inscriptions and a copy of the U.S. Constitution. The EDC Vow of Service followed that on another wall and the picture of Marissa Fairborn's father hung next to that. Rusti tore herself from daydreaming and sighed, finally making eye contact with Optimus Prime. "How's your garden, Optimus?"

He withdrew a little in surprise. "Well . . . it's not, Rusti."

"Not what?" she asked. "Not there anymore?"

"Well, no." He stared at the floor beside him and fingered whatever it was that suddenly caught his interest.

"Haven't you been there in the last few days?" She asked a little more directly.

He shook his head. "No."

She watched, taking note how he couldn't look her in the eye. Must be playing with a bug, she thought. "We could go there tomorrow." she suggested. "I could run around in my birthday suit while they wash my clothes-" she broke off, almost laughing when he suddenly looked at her, optics lit brightly.

They walked across the EDC courtyard where Grapple's favorite fountain stretched a good two hundred feet around. It was pretty at night. The blue and black light hit the femme statues, clothing them in bright, striking colors. Rusti took her time traversing the courtyard. Optimus paced with her, not saying much.

"Have you been really busy, Optimus?" She finally asked.

"Too busy, perhaps," he replied with that soft voice she loved to hear.

The girl frowned as they descended the steps toward EDC staff facilities. "Me too. I'm supposed to do homework, but it's been hard. My brain won't work for me." The comment stopped him in his path and Rusti felt herself scrutinized. She stared at her feet, ashamed. "Nothing wants to work anymore." She mournfully added.

Prime remained silent, deciding whether or not to say something. "I think we missed each other." His voice level did not change. He knelt before her, a god trying to see his creation optic-to-eye.

The girl batted back tears and turned, fearing he would see her cry again.

"It's alright, Rusti," Prime softly called. "I know you've been frightened."

She looked back, covering her face, wanting only to be held. Prime would never do this for anybody else, especially in public: he took her up and held her close to his chest piece.

The night wore to one A.M. and Optimus finally decided to persuade Rusti to sleep. He led her to her room in the EDC complex but upon opening the door she shrank away, shaking her head.

"I can't," she whispered.

"No one will hurt you here, Rusti." He promised. "You need to rest."

"I can't sleep," she insisted. "Optimus, someone tried to kill me! If I sleep, I'll have bad dreams!" She actually heard him sigh. She turned away, her heart racing. She knew every little sound, every muffled voice passing her door would keep her awake. She didn't know what to tell him.

Prime thought for a long moment and knelt on the floor. He planted his hands on his thighs. "Hmm. If I brought you to my office, do you think you could sleep?"

She considered it carefully. He'd be doing all his daily paperwork for a good part of the night. There would be light in the room, maybe music. She nodded.

Rusti settled on a makeshift bed on his desk. It was very sweet of him to let her sleep there! (Albeit, inappropriate, as far as the Autobot leader was concerned, but he really couldn't tell her no.) She watched him for half an hour as he typed at the computer and scribbled on pads and double checked and cross-checked references and read literally dozens of reports. He balanced three different books, memorized the shipping logs and examined the daily scouting reports on road conditions; who or what traveled up and down those roads and what maintenance was required the following day.

Rusti loudly sighed and Optimus tapped something else into the computer.

"You promised you'd go to sleep," he softly reminded without looking at her.

"I know." She whispered. He turned to her and she clutched the extra pillow. "It's just so quiet."

He laid the next digipad down and crossed his arms over the desktop, staring intently at her. For a moment, the Autobot leader considered how he never allowed Spike or Daniel to do so much as sit on his desk. Now it was being occupied by a little girl. He wondered if he treated her differently because she was a girl. He dimmed his optics. How did he get talked into this? Was it true, then, that often there were two standards? If he never had Spike or Daniel so much as sit on his desk, how was it that she managed to get him to let her sleep there?

It was too late to change his mind. "Very well, Rusti." He resigned. "Lie still."

She rolled over on her tummy, sandwiching her pillow between her head and her arms, her eyes staring past the computer. He mentally Embraced her and soothed her troubled soul. He elbowed the desk, concentrating.

"Once upon a time," he started. "There were six princes and their little sister Elsie. Their mother had died and their father remarried a mean, treacherous woman who was insanely jealous of the children . . ."

His soft deep voice filled that one area of the room. Rusti closed her eyes to it. His presence surrounded her with a mental warmth she never shared with anyone but he and Roddi. Little by little, she fell asleep, contented to hear his voice and the low hum of the computer on the desktop.

Hanson scanned the girl much the same as the day before. She muttered all kinds of things under her breath and jotted several notes on a small pad. Then she ran two skin tests, an eye test, a blood test and a short MRI scan.

When she finished, both Primes joined her. Rusti wiggled her fingers hello at Roddi. She was smiling this morning which erased all Optimus' earlier misgivings about letting her sleep on his desk. Her sea-grey eyes were bright, nothing escaped their notice.

Hanson slid her hands into her coat pockets and stared at the two Autobot leaders. "Well, I ran every test I could think of and still came up with the same anomaly as I did last night."

"What's that, Doctor?" Prime asked, watching the little girl more than paying attention to the adult. Rusti sat on the examination table, feet dangling over the edge and swinging with energy. She was not the same child he brought to the city last night.

"Well, every living creature, animal, Human, Autobot, absorbs and reflects certain wavelengths in their body. Sound and light are as much a part of our physical balance as taking in sustenance and converting it into energy." Hanson paused here and stared at the child who really just wanted to go outside and reacquaint herself with her favorite places. "Rusti here, has no gamma wave life force in or around her body."

The two Primes stared at one another.

Rodimus sunk to his knees. "How do you mean? What makes Fort Max so special that she can't get the same thing in Central City?"

Hanson shrugged. "I'm only telling you what I found. I'm not going to draw any conclusions, except this: Rusti, honey, how do you feel today?"

"Good." She answered, wondering what they were fussing over. All she knew was that it was Saturday and the sky was clear and her parents weren't back in Oregon yet. And Dr. Hanson was wasting her play-time.

"And how do you feel when you're home? Tell them exactly what you told me."

She gazed doubtfully at Hanson then sent the same gaze at her two friends. She didn't want them to think she was lying. Not that she was, but no one else seemed to believe her. "Sad."

"How about school?" Hanson asked.

Rusti shrugged and looked away, ashamed.

"Well, I called the school this morning." Hanson reported. "And they tell me she's had a nose bleed, she's passed out and has trouble concentrating in class."

"She wasn't doing that when she was visiting us on a regular basis." Rodimus observed.

Hanson shrugged. "You tell me. I have no idea what else it could be. I know what my tests indicate. I know what she said.

"Thank you, Dr. Hanson." Prime wanted to hear more, but not in front of 'little audios'.

Prime had to verify documents and visit Perceptor's lab for a couple of hours. That left Rusti in Rodimus' hands for the duration. After she dressed in new clothes (Aunt Missy had a set in her quarters from the last time Rusti visited) it was as if the last three weeks had never happened. Rusti walked backwards in front of the two Primes as they exited the Command Center. "I'm gonna go everywhere today." She announced. "Then I'm going to take the Dinobots for a walk and I'll grow wings and you guys can chase after me. And then I'll set up house and you guys can come and visit me and have a cup of tea and then I'll go find Blaster and ask him if I can choose all the songs he'll play for tomorrow and then I'll make a picnic basket and you guys can come to my picnic. But you can't bring any digipads with you!"

The two Autobot leaders glanced at one another.

"I thought you said she was despondent." Rodimus said.

"I did." Prime grunted. He bent over slightly, actually very much glad to see their little munchkin 'alive' again. "Rusti?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you stand still for about two point seven seconds?"

"Okay." And still she did stand. She waited while the two Primes glanced at one another. They silently communicated via inter-personal comline. It was a system of communication the Autobots used on the battlefield. But the girl couldn't tell if the Primes used it out of habit, or if they were talking so that she couldn't hear.

It didn't matter. She was Home. Rusti held her arms out wide and spun three times, taking all the air she could into her lungs and drew everything into her soul, almost absorbing whatever energies she could store at a conscious/subconscious level. She felt good all over, as though someone took an anvil off her chest. She could breathe again! Her head didn't hurt anymore at all! The girl thought she could fly.

"Come on, Lady-friend." Roddi beckoned. "I'm taking you out of here before Max decides he wants to join you on your cloud."

Optimus softly chuckled as Rodimus swept her up and set her on his shoulder. "I'll see you later, Rusti." He turned to go the opposite direction.

"Optimus?" She softly called. He glanced back. "Thank you." He said nothing, but sent her an optical glow. Sometimes she felt he searched for ways to remain inexpressive. Perhaps he didn't know how. That was okay, she decided. He loved her, whether or not he ever said it.

"Okay!" Rodimus announced. "First things first. There is a group of Dinobots who would kill me if they ever found out you were here and never visited them. Are you up to it?"

She gave him such a serious look that it nearly sent Rodimus rolling on the ground laughing. Nine year-olds were too much fun! But then so were five year-olds . . . and seven year-olds . . . and six and . . .

"Roddi," her voice came back ever solemnly. "I don't have any other clothes but these and my school clothes. And the exo-suit isn't designed for their use. I left everything in Central City."

"Hmm. That does pose a problem, doesn't it? A red-light emergency? Tell you what, you head back to your quarters and I'll meet you there in about fifteen. Sound good to you?"

She gave him a puzzled look as he set her on the ground. "Are you going to get me something to wear under it?"

"Well . . . sorta. You go on ahead. I'll meet you there in a few." And he waved her away with both hands. She sent him a suspicious look, but obeyed nonetheless.

Rusti took the shuttle from Central to the EDC side of Fort Max. The EDC district stood no shorter than the rest of town. Human Buildings, built for Autobot access, reached a good fifteen stories and higher. After being away for three weeks, Rusti had forgotten Max's breathtaking construction. The buildings in Central City stretched toward space, but Fort Max redefined the term 'sky scraper'.

EDC officers and their staff members came and departed by the droves. A couple of Headmasters assigned to Fort Max wound amid the crowd. One such Headmaster, Gort, waved her hello. When he realized she went no further than the fountain, he joined her in several swift steps. He removed his helmet, revealing a face that hadn't aged in over twenty-five years. "Hello, there, girl," he greeted. "Hadn't seen you around lately."

She stood on the fountain's rim and walked over it, balancing her body between the water on her left and the metal flooring on the right. "Mom and Dad wouldn't let me come home." She answered. "But something real bad happened and Optimus brought me home."

"Yeah?" He really didn't sound surprised and Rusti was sure he knew what was going on. "Well, they sure missed you."

"Mom and Dad?" She asked, surprised that they really would.

"No, Prime and Rodimus. I never thought I'd see an Autobot mope so badly."

She raised her brows at him, though kept her doubts to herself. Gort tucked the helmet under the crook of his arm and set the other fist on his hip. He watched her silently for a few more moments then cast a smile at her just before fitting the helmet back over his head. "Make sure Prime checks out of his office more than once this weekend, okay?"

"Okay." She replied, not sure how she could do that. Gort moved on, leaving her to a private balancing game. After a moment, Rusti glanced about the rest of the courtyard, taking in other bits of scenery. A bright yellow forklift crossed the courtyard bearing a huge crate in its arms. Two Throttlebots followed it, each carrying similar objects. Tourists stumbled around, cameras in their hands, ready to flash at every detail. Elsewhere, two very tall lanky aliens conversed privately with another Autobot.

Fort Max and Central City never slept. The I.G. building became the intergalactic hub on Earth. Businesses were as numerous as the residence between Fort Max and Central City. Were it not for the Cascade Range dividing the two cities, they most likely would have spilled into one another. But Optimus had foreseen that and made precautions to prevent such a thing. He wanted the Autobots to consider Earth their sister home, but he also wanted them to understand that some borders had to be maintained. No matter what world they may inhabit, they were still Autobots.

Rusti jumped and made her way to her quarters located in the apartment building near the cafeteria. This was one of two bedrooms she slept in. The other, located at Central Command, used to be her dad's. Her room in EDC resided on the second floor and oversaw a perfect view of the courtyard, though much of the time she could care less about what was going on. Seldom did anything drastic take place. Security at Fort Max was pretty tight, though never in plain sight. After all, the city itself was alive, conscious of most everything that was going on at once.

Most of the EDC officers lived here. They were among the most dedicated people in the world. Most EDC officers ate, drank and slept their jobs. The EDC organization itself had to compete with other alien races in technology, standards of etiquette and productivity. That was why when Optimus suggested building a fortress-city on Mars he received all the support and bodies EDC had to offer. It was a good way to prove to other alien races Earth was space-ready and could lead the galaxy into a very promising future.

The girl finally made it to her quarters. Her bed remained in the same sloppy condition she left it three weeks ago. There were no cobwebs to speak of, but Rusti could feel them. Suddenly she brightened and approached a little table sitting in front of the window. Upon it rested a brand new drawing pad Aunt Missy gave her prior to going home. She left it here since she had not finished the last one. Another smile lighted her face and her eyes shot across the courtyard, now forty feet below.

The bedroom door buzzed.

"Open!" She sang.

"Excuse me," Rodimus peered in. "I'm looking for a Distraction. She's standing about four foot something with red hair and has a bad habit of going to school."

She grinned at the silly Autobot then turned very serious. Here of all the people in this huge city, Rodimus and Optimus Prime were willing to take time to ensure she was cared for. "Roddi," she said softly. "Why?"

He stared at her then stared through her, as though reading what was on her mind.

Maybe he was.

"Do you remember that baby bird you found out by the lake last summer?"

She blinked. "Yeah."

He sat down on the floor, his legs crossed, "Do you remember how we gave it water and a place to rest for a while?"

"Yeah."

"It grew strong and flew away, didn't it?"

She tore her gaze from him, unable to answer.

Rodimus didn't give her time to answer: "Everybody needs somebody, Lady-friend. And everybody needs to feel needed. Op and me, of course, are constantly needed by the Autobots, but it's sorta different with you."

She still couldn't look him in the optic, humbled and amazed Roddi would use that analogy. A baby bird; something helpless and precious.

Rodimus let her dwell on that a moment longer before standing. "Dancing!" He proclaimed. "I was going to show you how to dance!"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Dance?" She asked.

"Something less serious than your expression," he replied. "Hey, Max, I need to show a nine year-old a little culture here!"

Rusti blushed. Surely Rodimus had other things of importance to do than to teach her how to dance-in her quarters, no less. Max patched into the local radio station and Rusti slapped her forehead.

"Genesis?" She groaned. "Genesis? Rodimus, Phil Collins is older than you are!"

"What?" He returned swaying his body one way then the other in time with the music. "And you call that 'Neo flash' stuff music? Hey, come on, kiddo, it's the Phil-O-maestro! The guy invented dancing music!" he spun once and tapped his feet one way then the other, snapping his fingers.

She crossed her arms stubbornly. "And I suppose you consider Bee-Gee the king of love."

"Nope. The Bee-Gees were a group of guys who wore white coats and did all their singing during the disco period."

She remained unmoved until he stopped dancing. "What?" He asked innocently. "You too good to move around? Or can't you dance at all?"

"I can dance," she replied coldly.

"Well, I can do it with the best of them. C'mon, I'll teach you!"

She finally smiled and gave in, watching him repeat the same step two and three times before she finally did a side-step move. Then he added to the step, swinging his arms, bending legs.

In another moment, she picked up his patterns, amazing even him at how fast she learned his steps. And in a moment, the two were moving to the rhythms of the music, she dancing in front of him, at first copying him almost without looking, then actually leading. Then Rodimus performed his test. He came up with a move in his head; sinking to the floor then jumping up. But he didn't do a thing. Then she suddenly did that very move and he copied her.

She proved his theory correct. The two turned toward the door where Optimus stood watching impassively. They froze and stared.

Prime kept silent before shifting a small package from his left hand to the right. "What are you two doing?" He asked.

"Nothing?" Rusti offered.

"We're uh, testing the structural integrity of the floor plates in Rusti's room."

Rusti shot Rodimus a surprised look. Optimus didn't look so convinced either and he sent Roddi a we'll-discuss-this-latter look. He knelt before Rusti and handed her the small package.

"Before you open it, Rusti, a few rules."

She took the package and guessed it had to be a coat or a uniform of sorts by the feel of the paper packaging. She stared intently at him and wanted to glance at Rodimus, but didn't.

"You cannot tell anyone where you got it."

"Very important," Rodimus added. "And you can't tell anyone that you have it."

"Even more important," Prime added to that. "Also, you must respect it. It's in the experimental stages and we do not know what it can and cannot do. So if you find anything new about it, you must swear to keep it to yourself."

"Consider it pirated material." Roddi simplified.

Rusti glanced from one Autobot leader to the other. They were dead serious about this agreement. "Okay.," she almost whispered. "I promise." Prime turned to leave. "Wait!" She called after. "Optimus, lemme at least try it on, okay?"

He paused then glanced over his shoulder and decided to stay. He closed the door and the two waited while she stripped down, not at all concerned about her modesty. She opened the package and pulled out a black suit lined with nodes and titanium wiring. A breast plate came with the top portion and shoes and knee pads and a groin support completed the body suit and under all that was a helmet. Rusti had no idea what she had been given, but it gave her the impression it was very top secret. She figured out how it fit and slipped into it. The black cloth fitted her body snugly and after adding the shoes and chest covering, she carefully picked up the helmet. Then she gazed at her Autobot guardians.

"What do you think?" She asked.

They stared at one another then nodded in approval.

"I think it'll work fine." Prime spoke first.

"It's a good thing those suits automatically adjust in size." Roddi added. "I know you've got some growing to do yet."

She blinked. "What am I wearing?"

* * *

Central City's police station had not relaxed since the first city bus was ambushed and all its passengers murdered. Families came in singles or by groups to identify bodies. The reactions always resulted one of two ways: the solemn shake of the head, or a burst of tears. 

Tolomsky popped another trio of aspirin in his mouth and downed it with more coffee. Sooner or later he'd have to go home and crash. All that energy was leaking from his ears, he was sure of it. He scribbled his signature across another release form and handed it to Alice. The secretary poured him his tenth cup and quietly left the room. He stared out the frosted glass windows, considering the madness outside. People were panicking and he had no answers, fanning public rage. Even with the assistance of the National Guard and EDC available to him, there were still no answers.

"Chief?" Someone poked their head through a crack in the door.

Tolomsky grunted.

"That Witwicky girl is here-and uh, her folks just walked in."

Tolomsky rolled his eyes. He'd heard just bare snatches about the Witwickys themselves; he knew too much about their son. And if Tolomsky were given half a chance, he'd hang that boy out to dry in the Arizona desert. Brian belonged in Juvi.

Reluctantly Tolomsky tightened his tie and swam across the flow of bodies into the interrogation room. He closed the door behind, delighted he did not have to be in the middle of the information chaos.

He scooted a chair to a table made for six, sitting across Mr. and Mrs. Witwicky. Their oldest daughter, a high school student, if Tolomsky's tired brain recalled correctly, stepped in from the bathroom and also sat across the table from her parents. A bandage wrapped the girl's left arm and her wrist rested in a temp splint. Three scratches lined her right jaw and a black circle started to form over her right eye.

It was no cat-fight she'd been in. Tolomsky hurt for her and silently swore he was gonna hire the girl the instant she got out of school.

Netty spoke first. "Well, seems we can't trust our own kids to keep things straight for three days."

Tolomsky glanced at their daughter who sat completely unmoved. "You wanna tell us what happened? Wanna start from the top?"

"Yes," Daniel snarled. "Like, where's your sister?"

Amazingly, Dezi calmly and silently poured herself a glass of water, took a sip then sat back in her chair. "I sent Res out of the house. From what I've been told, she's in Fort Max-where she should have been to begin with."

"Don't get smart, young lady!" Daniel's face turned ugly.

"Why?" She snarled in turn. "What are you going to do? Send me to my room?"

Netty interjected: "This is nobody's fault here. No one is at fault -except that, Dezi, why did you attack your brother?"

"He was going to kill Resonna," she smoothly answered. "Last time I checked, Res is only nine years old. So what did you want me to do? Stand and watch while a fifteen year-old ass rips a little girl to pieces because he lost some merchandise he hid in the house?"

Her parents stared at her, stunned. Dezi sipped more water. Tolomsky wanted to jump up and down and applaud her. She was irritating them in such a professional manner that they could actually do nothing about it! The whole scene was perfectly beautiful.

He cleared his throat. "Uh, you want to tell us about his little friends that were there?" He prodded.

Dezi set the now-empty glass on the table and folded her arms. "When I walked in, Brian was choking Res. I told him I hid the package and he threw her down and came for me. He had two friends there, one with a butterfly knife. After I was through with him, his buddies came for me. That's why I'm in the mess I'm in now." She held up her arm.

Netty gasped, horrified. "Brian's in the hospital right now, getting stitches! Dezi, how could-"

"Shut up!" Dezi shouted and jumped to her feet. Her face was ugly with barely-checked anger. "I already told Brian if he ever brought that crap home I'd kick his ass. I just kicked his ass!"

Daniel jumped to his feet, parental wrath written all over his face. "That will be more than enough, young lady." He demanded. "You get into a fight with Brian and sent your sister out to fend for herself-"

"Wrong!" Dezi sang. "I intervened before he could kill her. I made her run away so I could pound a few kilobytes worth of sense into him. What would you have me do? 'Oh, gee, Brian, I know you're upset that the package is missing, but please don't kill your little sister over it; it's not nice." and she threw her parents a mean, satirical smile.

Netty eyed her daughter dangerously. "That will be quite enough out of you." She growled dangerously.

"You're right." Dezi agreed. "I'll tell you what, you guys go back to your little gingerbread house and pretend that your little family is perfectly happy and normal and bake them cookies while you ignore the holes in the walls and your totally thrashed bed and the busted TV set. I'm going to stay with Candy a few days and try to remind myself that I have a future elsewhere." Dezi gathered her purse and back pack and moved toward the door when her father literally leapt over the table and landed right between her and the door.

"I. Have. Had. Enough. Of. This!" His face was beet-red; the same kind of anger Dezi had seen in Brian.

But she merely stood straight. "Go ahead." She dared. "Hit me. It won't change the fact that Brian is an ass and you made the mistake of ignoring it." She waited three beats, but he didn't lay a hand on her (actually, she nearly fainted in gratitude, knowing what those metal-covered hands were capable of doing). She maneuvered around his useless cowardly carcass and slipped out the room.

Daniel stood there like a little child without a toy. He had just lost whatever shred of respect his eldest daughter had for him. He was so good at this! And he had no idea how to repair the damage. Everything slipped through his fingers like so much dried sand. Where did it all go wrong?

Tolomsky let the whole masquerade play itself out. He liked that girl; she had the guts of ten men. He hoped she would find a good future in something more than a career-mom. He didn't look at Netty or at Daniel as the father returned to his wife. He sat down, defeated, old. In a way, Tolomsky felt sorry for him. He was obviously a good provider for his family. Probably a hard worker. But he was clueless, hiding his head in the sand. It was always easier to pretend something wasn't happening until it comes to a head like a zit at the end of one's nose. Everyone else can see it except the individual until one looks in the mirror. And that's what Dezi had just handed them; a mirror so they can see the ugliest mistake of their lives.

Or maybe one of many.

* * *

Life couldn't get better than this very moment. Rusti watched as Snarl ran into Sludge, rocking the great Bronto-bot, but not quite shaking him off his feet. Sludge's temper proved itself true, either that or he was too stupid to retaliate. He moved on, chasing Slag who had the football. 

Some game! Those Dino-bozos couldn't get anything right, no matter how many times Rusti explained it! Two teams, working together. Two different home bases, one for each side. The one that gets the football to their side gets a point. But the Dinos never reached that far. Their objective was simple: Get the ball and hold on it as long as you can before someone else gets it. Hence the term 'Dinobot football'.

Grimlock and Rusti stood together at one point and cringed as Sludge transformed and ransacked Slag. Slag managed to turn and kick the larger Dino off. But Swoop, who seldom got his claws on the football, found an opportunity and swept down, snatching the ball from Slag's preoccupied grip.

Slag crawled out from under Sludge and made a run for the flying 'bot.

Rusti took her cue from there and dashed onto the field-glad her mother wasn't there to see all this. The suit Op and Roddi gave her allowed so much more freedom than any other clumsy contraption issued by EDC. It didn't transform, naturally. But she wasn't out to imitate a Transformer, just protect her tiny form from the clumsiness of five silly Dinos who had more than once mistaken her for the ball!

"Swoop!" She called into their comline. "Here! Gimme the ball over here!" She watched as the great pterodactyl did a loop-de-loop and came right for her, dropping the ball, but not into her grip. That was alright. She whisked the ball up and dashed for the goal post.

"Uungggnnn! Girl has ball!" Slag deduced. He released Sludge and transformed. Sludge sat there wondering where Slag had gone. Snarl joined Slag a moment later.

Now, dashing down the football field with two hulking Dinobots right on your heels is a very terrifying experience. And Rusti feared she would be stomped into the ground with the football. But Grimlock intercepted by transforming from Autobot to Dinobot mode and jumped into the fray. He kicked poor Slag in the underside and swept Rusti up, ball and all, but ended knocked over himself by Sludge who hadn't registered that the ball had gone to another player-oh yeah, the girl had it, too.

Grims rolled, dropping Rusti and transformed.

Rusti fell face-down to the ground, still clutching the ball. She was about to get up when something terribly heavy stepped right on her and pressed her whole self into the turf. She heard a muffled . . . scream? Was it hers? She wasn't sure. She pushed herself up from the ground and brushed herself off.

All the Dinobots stared at her as though she were resuscitated from the dead. "What?" She asked innocently.

"We thought you dead." Sludge's broken English spilled first.

She blinked. "I just fell, guys."

Swoop stood next to Grimlock and pointed to the area Rusti sat up from. "Me Swoop scared; Rusti get squished like slug."

She gazed left where Swoop pointed and noticed the deep imprint. She set her hand in it and grimaced. The imprint was at least a good six inches down. She looked at her hands, metal gloves covered them and all other extremities of her body. Solid metal strips connected the otherwise thin plating to nodules. The chest piece contained a micro computer that controlled the force field surrounding the suit. She had more than survived a serious problem with Dinobot football. The old-issue exo-suits would end up in repair bay for two weeks. This . . . wonderful gift withstood any punishment the Dinos handed.

"What did they give me?" She whispered in awe. But then, she didn't dare think more about it. Dinobots had a short attention span. She rolled back over her shoulder and dangled a now very flat football between her fingers. "Hey guys!" She called through the interpersonal comline. "Can't catch me!" And with that, she ran for the goal post. "If I reach the white line, I win!"

Grimlock transformed and roared a call for the hunt.

About an hour later, Rusti traversed the huge corridor toward Prime's office. Autobots and EDC officers passed by her much the same way her peers did in school. But here it was a lot different. She wasn't in competition. People looked at her with a smile rather than cold expressionless eyes.

She peeled off her helmet as Ultra Magnus stepped out of Optimus' office, paused and poked his head back in, saying something in Autobot then leaned back out and turned toward the exit. He spotted her and gave a welcoming smile.

"Hello, Rusti," he greeted.

She smiled her greeting, still recovering from the abusive Dinobots. "They thought I wasn't coming back, Ultra Magnus."

He stared at her thoughtfully and exchanged a digipad from one hand to the other. "Er, the Dinobots?"

"Yeah. They missed me, I guess."

"Not everyone here has time for them," Magnus confirmed. "It's good you're willing to play with them. But aren't you afraid they might hurt you?"

She gave him a wry smile and shook her head. "I don't think I'd be missed anyway." She meant it as a joke, really. But Magnus stared sadly at her before glancing into Prime's office. "I wouldn't be that sure." He replied.

Duplex charged up behind Rusti and saluted Magnus. "General Ultra Magnus, sir?"

Magnus gave him attention. "Corporal?"

"Trouble at the field, sir."

"Medical?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"I'm on my way." Magnus nodded farewell, "Rusti." He stomped off, following Duplex's steps like a stalking cat.

The girl watched him disappear out the elevator, grateful she did not have to train under Ultra Magnus. From what she had heard, he was a regular slave driver. Magnus was responsible for city defense and function and part security. Nobody crossed him, not even in fun. She remembered Roddi once calling him the 'Walking Stiff'. Perhaps, she admitted, but Magnus was still fairly friendly, though quite a bit reserved and sometimes socially at a loss for words.

She turned to her destination at hand: carefully peeking in through the open doorway to Prime's office. He had already forgotten the door was open. Well, either that or Max hadn't bothered to close it yet. She waited two beats, knowing he'd give her a silent signal if he didn't want her in the office right now. But Optimus did nothing more than scribble something on a digipad and type something else into his computer. She silently stepped in and the minute she did, the door closed quietly behind her. She crossed the carpeted floor to a little remote corner in the office. She smiled, finding her bean bag where she left it three weeks ago. A box of well-used crayons, five color books and a Raggedy Ann still waited for her.

"I thought of going upstairs sometime today." Optimus' voice filled the silent room and she turned, watching him. He didn't look up as though he were talking to his monitor.

Uncertain, the girl crossed half the room toward the huge desk. "How's your garden, Optimus?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know." He still did not look at her. "Haven't been there in a while." Then he regarded her and she could see his face plate fall once, then lift. He wanted to say something more; she could almost see it in his optics. They dimmed a little as he stared at her. Finally she smiled, breaking the awkward moment. His optics flared then resumed their normal light blue color and he returned to the computer. He really wanted to say something more, but held it back and buried whatever he was going to say in paperwork.

She suddenly felt robbed. The moment might have been warm and special. But he always held back. Sometimes she felt he really didn't want to be her friend; he really didn't want to share anything of himself. That's not to say that Optimus was hard-nosed and aloof. He'd come right up to the moment of saying something, pause and turn away. Other times he'd say something really sweet and then the very next moment act as though the moment never existed.

He'd come so close to opening to her, like the dinner the night before. He joked with her; another thing he seldom did. It often made her wonder about the person underneath the Autobot leader persona. Whomever he was, was kept under lock and key.

She sat silently in the office coloring in a book until Optimus held a private meeting with two Autobots from Metroplex. Rusti didn't have to be told, she could tell when it was a private meeting and she was not permitted to sit in on those. She glanced back before slipping out the door. She had never seen Tracks before and saw Skyfire only once. Both their faces were grim.

Well, she needed to change her clothes anyway.

The garden that topped Central crossed its entire rooftop. Constructed of glass on all sides except the top, the place looked as though professionally cultivated. Optimus wouldn't speak of his pastime, even to anyone who found it atop Central. He found the hobby very therapeutic. It took no brains to stick a plant in dirt and give it water. But it was very satisfying watching it grow and bloom. It gave him a sense of accomplishment without all the mental torture he went through day after day.

But he had not been up there in three weeks. One reason led to one excuse. Some plants stood dead, testament to his neglect and he inwardly wondered what Rusti would say about it. He paused, wondering why it mattered what a nine year-old thought about his activities. That moment in the office must have been disappointing to her and for that he was sorry. Prime wanted to tell her how much he missed her; how glad he was that she was . . . home. But coward that he was, he couldn't say it. He couldn't tell her that he . . . he lov . . he missed her.

Prime pulled a dead bush from its planter in self-inflicted misery. No, he decided. Who was he fooling? All it'd take was one slip, one tiny little slip and he would be vulnerable to attack.

Unacceptable. If leaving oneself open to people, invites injury and he had been through that far too often. Besides, she deserved more than what he could give her.

"Opt'mus?" Her little voice rang through the garden and Prime felt his laser core strongly vibrate. He berated himself. Stop! Daniel will be by tomorrow to collect her and I will not see her until the following week, IF I'M THAT LUCKY!

He left another dead plant on the ground and met Rusti as she walked in bearing a book in her hands. She silently greeted him with a wide grin. He returned the smile, his fears vanishing for the time being. The girl tried to climb up a pedestal but couldn't quite reach the top. Prime offered a boost and she settled right down.

"And what are we doing here?" He asked, crouching so that they could see optic-to-eye. He set his fingers on the edge of the stool and watched as she opened the large book.

"I'm going to read you a story." She answered.

He was flattered. He settled on the floor in front of her. "Very well." He accepted. "What's the name of the story?"

"Goldilocks and the three Optimus'."

"What?" He smirked. She looked very serious and he wanted to laugh all the more but knew she'd take it the wrong way. "Alright, Rusti. I'll listen." He set elbows on knees and set his chin on his fists, staring intently at the little girl in front of him.

Rusti confidently opened the book, not paying any attention to the text in the book; it was all dumb, anyway. "Once upon a time," she began matter-of-factly, "there lived a little girl named Goldilocks. She got lost in the woods and came across a-"

the pager went off in the room.

Optimus shook his head as though rolling his optics. "Prime!" He accepted.

"Yo, boss," Blaster called from the other end of the comline, "there's an Ambassador Drun wantin' ta talk at ya'. Says he's willing to take up yer trading offer. Says he wants to hold a meeting in an hour."

Rusti's hopes to have Optimus to herself for a few hours were swept away in the name of business and diplomacy. She cast her eyes down at the book. This would probably be the only minute she'd have with him. She sadly traced a picture in the book.

Optimus read that sadness. He felt it from her and in himself. No! He needed this time! He needed a break from all the demands and stresses, even if just for today. "Blaster," he called. "Tell Drun I'm in the middle of a very important meeting and I can't get out of it."

Rusti shot him a shocked look.

"Sir?" Blaster came back.

"Meeting, Blaster. I'm in the middle of a meeting. I don't know when I'll get out of it. Could be today, might not be until tomorrow. You have your orders."

"Uh, yeah, sure, Optimus. I'll let him know." And the transmission was cut off.

Silence ruled for a moment. Rusti fell breathless with surprise. Optimus was a little pleased with himself. "Optimus?" She asked quietly. "If we're at a meeting, how come we're not in a conference room?"

His optics dimmed with pleasure. "Not all meetings need to take place around a table, Rusti." His voice came soft and soothing. "Now, how about that story?"

It was a just-for-the-heck-of-it party, or so Roddi said. Blaster naturally went along with it, doing most of the work from the set-up to the entertainment. It was a bit spur-of-the-moment thing, but people managed to pull tricks from their sleeves and joined in the preparations and in two hour's notice, there was food laden tables on one side of Memory Hall in the Communications District of Fort Max. Blaster set up two live music groups and arranged a dancing contest for later that evening.

Everyone, naturally was invited. Besides, Blaster didn't believe in invitation-only parties. Rusti felt a little pushed into the whole thing. She wasn't really interested in a big party. All she wanted was a quiet, private evening with either (preferably both) Primes. Not being one for socializing, she more or less melted away from the loudest part of the gathering.

It was mad, too. Many of the former Paratrons, who had more or less melted into the rest of Autobot society, joined in the fray, dancing and hobnobbing with both Autobots and alien ambassadors presently residing in Fort Max. That was a long story Rodimus never did get to finish telling her. Rusti just assumed the Paratrons, who have more or less changed themselves to individual preferences, came from another planet for one reason or another and now consider themselves Autobots. Quipper and Tripcord were two such people. There were femmes too; Quasar, for example.

From where she stood near one of the food-laden tables, Rusti's eyes roamed the great hall from one side to the other. The fifty-foot ceiling sparkled with a mirror ball and three color lights zapped on and off its spinning surface. The music, however good, was really too loud for her. She sipped the punch and spotted Ultra Magnus in a corner quietly talking with Hot Spot and Springer. All three of their faces were grim, in spite of the smiles they'd throw at occasional passers-by. Rodimus danced with a femme whose name Rusti did not know. He'd say something to her and she'd laugh. Rusti shook her head. She wondered if he was just putting on a show, or if he was serious. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Roddi.

"Great little gathering!" Someone shouted at her above the music.

At her right stood Lt. Cyrillus, an understudy to Captain Fairborn. He smiled with wickedly sweet eyes. If only she were a few years older! She merely nodded, not sure her voice would carry through the throbbing boom of the base. But the musical thunder lifted a moment and Cyrillus drained his glass. "Have you had anyone ask to dance with you, yet, Miss?"

She shook her head.

"May I?"

Rusti couldn't refuse his request. She took his hand as the music started up again.

Cyrillus did most of the dancing. The girl couldn't understand it: just a little while ago she was dancing quite well with Roddi. Now she couldn't dance at all. Rusti felt like an idiot having to guess every step. She decided to just make the best of it.

The song ended and Cyrillus courteously bowed and the girl bashfully backed off with a polite thank you. It was more than enough and Rusti decided she'd just rather not be in such a pressing crowd. She slipped away, finding the outside spring air far more comforting and free. The music picked up again and the girl was even more grateful not to be in the middle of it.

The Landslide fountain cascaded a good distance from the throbbing music and thickened crowds. Rusti sat at the edge and stared. The fountain sunk down in steps. Water cascaded from the steps and gathered into a shallow pool at the bottom. Three geysers sprung from the floor and in the night, blue, yellow-gold and red lights dyed the water in a multiplicity of visions. Mirrors complimented the fountain, forcing the colors and lights to bounce off one another.

Nearby laughter caught the girl's attention and Rusti noticed other people dotted about the square, probably suffering from overwhelmed senses as she.

She laid on her back, laced her hands under her head and gazed at the upper level of Fort Max. She could just scarcely see starlight past the upper platform. Lights from the surrounding offices buildings stole most of the view. She forgave the landscape, content with just being Home. A cool breeze passed through the fountain and sprayed her body with water. It was a bit cold, but she just laid there and stared at the sky and half listened to the music.

"Excuse me. Has someone claimed the area beside you?"

She almost startled, discovering she had fallen asleep. Optimus towered over her and she smiled, delighted to see his frame. She sat up. "No."

Gracefully he sat next to her and glanced toward Memorial Hall. She studied him for a moment, wondering why he was here. "Not one for parties either, Optimus?"

"Hmm?" His optics fell on her. "No, Rusti. I'm afraid not."

"It's the music, isn't it?"

"No." He sighed. "The music selection is better than what I've heard in the past."

"Crowds?"

He nodded.

He wasn't going to fess up! Her smile broadened. He unknowingly let a part of himself slip in front of her! Now that wasn't like Optimus! He looked away as if ashamed. She laid a sympathetic hand on his leg and his optics dimmed in pleasure. Then his optics shot at her, shocked.

She patted the surface then withdrew her hand. "I suppose you're here to tell me it's time for bed." She assumed.

He hesitated. "You seem to be feeling better since yesterday. Eh, Rusti?"

"Yeah. I can breathe again."

He studied her another moment. "Rodimus and I will try to talk your parents into weekend visits again."

She frowned. "I don't think it'll work, Optimus. Short of a miracle, I mean." She swore that his whole frame slumped ever so slightly. His head tilted downward.

"We're going to try, Rusti." He vowed. "I know how much it means for you to be here with us."

She stared at him, feeling robbed again. He wanted to say something, or at least she hoped he wanted to say something more. Sadness covered her face. She couldn't be sure. _I know we're out in public, Optimus. But, don't you miss me, too?_

She closed her eyes as his little finger brushed her red hair. _More than I can say._ he answered in soft reply.

She opened her eyes and beheld his sadness.

Sunday rolled around like an unwanted guest. Rusti woke, forgetting what day it was, and practically jumped out of bed. She made her bed, too. She showered and dressed and hopped right to the cafeteria, hoping there'd be some morsel of breakfast left by the early-rising Head/Targetmasters.

She was lucky. Not everyone had quite recovered from the party the night before and she greedily helped herself to bacon and pancakes with strawberry jam and a very large glass of orange juice. She found she couldn't stand or sit still. She just had to go out and do something; even if it meant pestering someone to death. But then she thought of the Dinobots and figured they'd be the best playmates. They were the very best pets, really. Unless they had a job to do, the Dinos were always willing to play.

She devoured her breakfast in solitude. Other EDC officers glanced her way with raised brows and/or smiles. They'd greet her with a wave or a wink. Rusti wasn't the only child on campus, but she was one of the more well-known.

Aunt Missy nabbed a place across the table from her and smiled at the energetic nine year-old. "Good morning, Res-er, Rusti. How are we today, Sweety?" Rusti gave her a grin the size of Mississippi and Marissa chuckled. "Well, it's a good thing. At least you're not suffering from hang-overs like half the town."

"Why do people do things like that if all they have is pain in the end, Aunt Marissa?"

"Like what, Hon?"

"Getting drunk."

"Oh, because it's fun at first. They just live the moment, I suppose."

"Have you ever been drunk, Aunt Missy?"

"Yes, Hon. But you'd better eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

It was a brush-off and Rusti was well aware of it. She smiled and downed her orange juice. Grandpa Spike once called Aunt Missy a 'character.'

Optimus stared past his office window toward the unseen football field in the north-western corner of Fort Max. It was designed specifically for the Dinobots but it was also used for public meetings when none of the conference halls could contain all attendees. Somewhere out there a little girl frolicked with five giant robots and having more fun than ten kids in an amusement park. "Or a kremzeek in an appliance factory." He amended out loud.

"What's that?" Roddi's voice piped behind him.

"Nothing." He turned back to his Second and sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Rodimus. Where were we?"

"The latest bomb reports."

"Yes. What did Streetwise find?"

"You mean besides patterns that don't match?"

Prime waited but Rodimus said nothing more. "And that is?"

"Well, we've taken precautions to check everyone's background. We have no suspects among those who worked around the bombed areas. Including the office of Investigations. So we've decided to move from the workers to patrons. You know, looking for anomalies; things that don't fit."

Prime nodded and suddenly the two leaders stared at one another. Someone just entered the building; someone neither of them really wanted to see.

"What will you tell them?" Roddi asked quietly.

Optimus threw him a dirty look. Why was he always having to be the problem-solver? But he took the responsibility and scowled. "The truth."

"They may not take it well."

"Rusti is all I care about at this point, Rodimus."

Rodimus kept the smile to himself. If Daniel was after some kind of argument, Optimus was very much in the mood to give him one.

And with that thought, the door buzzed and Prime permitted Daniel and Netty to enter. But he did not rise from his desk to greet them.

"Morning, Prime." Daniel greeted a bit coldly. "Rodimus."

"Hello, Daniel." Rodimus remained cordial while Optimus remained silent. A sure sign the Senior Prime wasn't happy.

Daniel crossed his arms. "We'd really like to thank you for putting up with Resonna the last two days."

"It's hardly a bother." Optimus finally droned. "In fact, if it's alright with you, we'd like her to visit us next weekend."

"Impossible." Netty swiftly interjected. Even Daniel gazed at her in surprise. "Uh, Delphra wants to . . . take the kids to Portland. Some kind of festival or other." She forced a chuckle from her chest. "You know how Del is always spoiling the kids."

Rodimus turned to Optimus, wondering if Optimus was going to call her bluff or not. It was a delicate moment. And Optimus took his time in answering. "Hmmm." It was all he could think of. "Well, perhaps the following weekend."

"Well, yes." Netty piped. "Well, we haven't made any plans for that weekend yet. We could let you know."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Optimus knew they knew he knew they were bluffing. Netty was a lousy liar. Daniel clapped his metal-covered hands together.

"So! Where's our Daughter Number Two?"

Rodimus and Optimus exchanged uncertain glances. They really didn't want to say where she was at the moment.

"Well?" Daniel insisted.

"Football?" Rodimus offered.

"Where?" Netty looked suspicious.

"With the Dinobots." Prime answered nonchalantly.

Both parents stared at him, stunned. Then Netty managed to gulp air. "You allow my child to play with those clumsy monstrosities?"

The two Primes glanced at one another as though Netty's anger were incomprehensible.

"It's good for them." Rodimus defended.

"The Dinobots would do nothing to hurt her, Mrs. Witwicky." Optimus promised. "Spike never had a problem with them."

The woman sighed, sternly trying to control herself. "Spike was in high school, Prime. He knew how to run. He had a suit."

Rodimus sniggered. Optimus smiled and looked away.

"WHAT?" She grounded.

"Peek-a-boo!"

All four adults eyed the open doorway and a cheerful nine year-old girl peeked round the door frame, meaning to play a game with Optimus. But upon spotting her parents, she very suddenly lost her smile and straightened. Fun and freedom had just been canceled.

Optimus felt for her and so very much wanted to just . . . but he dared not let that thought develop. He pushed it aside and reminded himself who and what he was.

Daniel and Netty stared speechlessly at the girl and, more to the point, the suit she wore. Then they slowly turned to the two Autobot leaders, their eyes wide with surprise.

Netty pointed at her little girl. "What . . . how . . .how did she get one of these?"

Rodimus and Optimus simply glanced at one another, appearing as much at a loss as the parents. Then Rodimus merely shrugged.

The following words between Daniel and Netty and Roddi weren't pretty. Rusti, however wasn't allowed to listen in. She was told to march right to her quarters and change into her regular clothes, saying not so much as a 'Hon, I'm glad you're okay' speech. Nothing in greeting. Rusti felt more like property. Optimus said nothing in either support or contrast to what the parents demanded. But Rusti understood the whole situation was out of his hands. They were her parents and that settled it. She just tied her shoes on when her mother barged in without so much as a knock.

"Got everything?" Netty asked.

She nodded.

"You should have left a note or something for someone to find you."

She couldn't even look at her stupid mother. Rusti slowly folded the suit and tucked it in the dresser. Her mother watched her like a hawk and nervous tension tightened her back. Everything had been going so well!

"Well, are you glad to see me?"

Rusti stared at her, wordless.

Netty looked indignant. "I'm not perfect, Resonna. I'm sorry your father and I can't attain the same expectations your precious Autobots have made in you. We're just human."

"I was scared." She meant the incident and didn't know whether or not her mother would catch the meaning.

Netty stared at her and realized her mistake. Her frame slumped. She attacked her little girl out of pride. She shut her mouth.

Rusti wiped an embarrassing tear and made her way to the door. Netty grabbed her suddenly and gave her a tight hug. But to Rusti, it was empty, meaningless. She wondered if this would be the right time to ask a favor, now that her mother was in a guilt trip.

"Can't I come and visit next weekend? Please, Mama?"

"Hon-"

"Please?" She begged. "I'll be good, I promise!"

Netty wiped a curl of red hair from Rusti's forehead and set her mouth tight. "We'll see."

The answer, in translation, was 'no'. But she merely nodded, knowing better than to argue and plead any further. She hadn't even left Fort Max and already missed Op and Roddi.

Monday rolled around. All the destroyed items in the Witwicky home were replaced with new ones, the carpet vacuumed and shampooed, the drapes replaced. The living room window was taped where Dezi shoved Brian through the glass. Bloody smeared marks on the walls Rusti had not seen before. Netty hadn't time to clean everything up yet and it would take a while to patch holes in the walls and replace the blood-stained carpet. Dezi wasn't in a very talkative mood and when Daniel and Netty tried, all they got out of her were dirty looks. Rusti didn't feel very safe.

Rusti went to school the very next day. To her delight she found herself able to pay attention. She even started asking questions again. Something had given her strength enough to move on. It felt good to be able to concentrate.

By Thursday, she dared ask about visiting Fort Max that weekend and got no response from her mother who acted as though she didn't hear. Rusti knew Netty heard. Well, she thought, perhaps next weekend. She decided to ask and pester until they had to send her just to get her out of their hair.

But Brian coming in from the hospital changed all that. He was a mess. Dezi had given him a good work-over, more than Rusti imagined.

No one spoke at the dinner table that night. Dezi read and ate in dead silence, obviously trying to ignore Brian.

Brian sulked.

It was the worst dinner Rusti remembered having.

Later that night, voices roused Rusti from sleep. She tried to shut out the noise, but as her ears picked up cars rolling in front of the house, she pushed herself off the bed. The girl peeked under the curtains and spotted three cars and several people talking quietly. One person laughed loudly as he took a swig of something from a paper bag. Brian appeared from the front door and joined them, handing one of them a small box. They stood too far away for her to hear their words, but she thought for sure she heard the word 'joys'.

Rusti rolled her eyes and hoped they weren't going to be there much longer. She crawled back into bed and tried to go back to sleep.

She woke with a headache the next morning. It wasn't a bad headache, but it left a buzzing in her head and kept her from hearing normally. She tried to fake it, knowing her mother would probably nag her whining and demand she straighten out. Rusty left the house and caught the bus, her ears ringing as though she had swimmer's ear on both sides of her head.

The loss of hearing kept her from listening to the teachers and Mrs. Chadwell sent her several cutthroat looks. But how could she explain what was wrong? She sighed, knowing she'd get into trouble over it sooner or later.

Here we go again, she thought dismally.

Friday passed on mercifully fast.

The bus approached her stop and she shouldered her back pack and disembarked. The doors slammed shut and the bus roared off. She sighed, her emotions heavy with fatigue.

Rusti slept about fifteen minutes before Dezi came in. Her high school sibling rummaged through the kitchen, picked up the phone and gabbed a moment or two at a friend, asking her to call later that night. Rusti decided to start on the homework. The buzzing in her ears wouldn't leave, but she figured she'd just live with it until the situation worsened. She already started on her vocabulary when Dezi peeked in.

"Hey." She called, peeking in with the phone attached to her ear. "Any sign of Brian?"

Rusti silently shook her head.

"Mom just said Bri's supposed to be here at home. You haven't seen him?"

Another shake of the head.

"Damn. Okay." She stood straight and departed Rusti's room. "No, Mom. Res hasn't seen him, either. Sorry. Well, I don't know." Dezi walked off, her voice trailed along with her. "I don't know! I don't have a leash or a tagging system, Mom. That's supposed to be your job. Yeah, whatever. Okay. Okay. Bye."

Rusti woke that Saturday morning with another headache. It made it difficult to do much of anything. She laid around, much to her mother's disgust. She complained once and was handed two aspirin. But that didn't help. She watched TV most of the day and took a nap, but the pain did not lift. Her father came home and the family went through another dinner farce.

Brian finally popped through the front door. He waved once at everyone as they sat at the table and stared at him. Netty slammed her glass of water on the table. "Young man," she announced. "Where have you been?"

"Awe, Mo-om." He nearly sang. "Jus' out with the guys. Y'know."

"Brian," Daniel finally growled. "You're grounded."

Brian craned his neck toward them and pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. "Wha . . .?"

"You heard me." Daniel snarled. "You're grounded for the remainder of the year. You will be driven to and from school. You will be monitored. You will come straight home and do your homework."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Pfffff. Whatever." And he marched right out the garage door to his room.

"It's not going to do any good." Netty muttered.

"WHAT D' YOU EXPECT ME TO DO!" Daniel suddenly roared.

The shout startled Rusti and hurt her ears. She dropped her glass of milk and spilt it all over the table. Netty slapped her hands on the table's edge and huffed, knifing a stare into her daughter's eyes.

"Sorry." Rusti stammered. She moved slowly plucking towels to clean the mess.

Daniel slammed his spoon into his bowl of mixed vegetables. "You know, for once I'd like to have a nice normal conversation with my family. I'd like to have fun but you kids just love to make things difficult." He slammed a napkin on the bowl and abandoned the table.

Rusti dabbed at the spilt milk, so very sorry she wasn't what he wanted in a child. Out the corner of her eye, she spied him yank up his helmet and aim for the front door in a tantrum.

"I don't even know why I try as hard as I do, you know? I don't know. You guys figure it out." And he slammed the door behind him.

Rusti kept cleaning milk no longer there. She tried to ignore her mother's and sister's silent stares. She wished she could be anywhere at this very moment, but here.

Sunday rolled around, finding Rusti disinterested in anything but a coloring book. She half-heartedly colored, staring at it most of the time. Breakfast hurt her stomach, but she managed to keep it down. Later, Netty called her into the living room, accusing Rusti of hiding.

Rusti brought her color book and crayons, paying no attention to the TV as Dezi, Netty and Brian watched a lame-brain drama about a woman who couldn't decide between two lovers.

Rusti's thoughts kept going back to Fort Max and wondered how much it would cost to take a bus there and how she could sneak away for an afternoon's visit. Before long, she found her hand stopped coloring altogether. Not only had she lost interest, but strength. The crayon rested in her hand, poised to color. She'd colored the entire book now, pouring all her frustration and sadness onto the pages, but finding no satisfaction.

Brian swept the book right out from her and flipped the pages. "Wow." He mocked. "What's all this bull, Res? Having fun? Can't have that!" He ripped the book down the center and threw it to the floor.

"Brian!" Netty shouted. "Damn it, will you stop!"

He simply crossed his arms and pouted at the TV.

Rusti stared at the useless book. He had no reason to do that. Sure, it meant nothing to her, but the book was hers. Anger welled inside her. Sooner or later she let him have it. But not now. Rusti wordlessly slid off the couch and picked up the torn pages.

Then Brian kicked her.

That was it. She shrieked and attacked him, jamming crayons into his skin and biting him as he gripped her body. He finally grabbed a chunk of her hair and slapped her.

She landed flat on the floor. Netty screamed, ordering Brian to his room and not come out. She picked Rusti up, but Rusti's anger clouded her judgment and she spit in her mother's face and again was slapped and she screamed, pushed Netty away and escaped to her room. Rusti slammed the door shut and propped a chair against the door. She collapsed on the bed, listening as her mother knocked, twisted the knob then banged on the door. Netty actually tried to break the door down.

Sudden visions of Netty wanting to kill her rushed through Rusti's head. The girl opened her window, kicked out the screen and fled.

She ran as fast as her throbbing head permitted. Where to go? But she remembered not more than a few weeks ago a wonderful little place with an ancient oak nestled off the roadway down the street. Rusti aimed for that, taking other routes in case her mother should already discovered she had run away. Rusti found the little thicket and the tree, waiting for her like the Dinobots. The girl sat with her back to the tree and stared at nothing for a very long time. After that, Rusti lay down and fell asleep.

Cold air convinced Rusti to seek her blankets. "Max? Could you raise the room temperature? It's cold in here."

No answer.

A throbbing headache forced her to open her eyes as the sun kissed the western horizon. Rusti moaned and sat up, rubbing her injured side. Bastard. Brian couldn't have his way, so he made someone else miserable.

Rusti bowed over and held her head between her hands. Like to peck him! Dizziness assailed her and Rusti admitted sooner or later she would have accept punishment for spitting at Netty and running away. Rusti remained a moment longer before deciding it didn't matter. It didn't matter what they did to her anymore. She'd just roll up somewhere and sleep until she died. Her shoulders slumped. If she died, Optimus would miss her very much.

She bowed her head, miserable. No matter what she did, nothing went right.

Her eyes caught several wet red spots on her light blue blouse. She touched her nose, drew her fingers back and sure enough, her nose was bleeding again. Stress? She stood and lost her balance, falling on her knees.

Okay, this would have to be done in small steps.

It took her sometime to gain and retain her balance. She made it across the way and down three streets back to her house. The further she walked the more Rusti's thoughts scattered. Her vision blurred long before she found Arcee, parked in the driveway. Rusti laid a hand on her for balance. Arcee paid her no mind, locked somewhere in conversation or whatever else Autobots do in car mode.

She made it to the front door and fancied they might have locked her out to teach her a lesson. But it wasn't locked and she stumbled in.

"Resonna!" Her mother gasped. "Young lady-ohmigod! What happened? Resonna, why's your nose bleeding?"

Netty shook her, trying to attain some answer, but Rusti merely swooned.

She woke much later. Her head throbbed, sitting up invited the room to spin around. She lay back and stared at the ceiling. The house stood silent and Rusti thought her ears would explode. Feebly she stretched and hit her clock radio. A Travis Torman song rang from the single-speaker contraption. Not one of her favorites, but far better than dead silence. Rusti rested from the effort then attempted to look at the time.

Eleven . . . A.M. A.M.? Was that right? Had she slept through the next day? Someone's car door slammed and voices in the parking lot rose and fell with an argument. One voice belonged to Brian.

"What am I supposed to do, man? Just tell my folks 'Gee, Mom, I can't be grounded because I have a courier job with the Doppelgangers?"

A dull pounding thudded and someone's muffled cry entered Rusti's open window. More words were exchanged, butt she couldn't make it out. Well, frankly, she didn't think she'd miss Brian if he ended up in the hospital or the morgue.

The migraine lifted enough for her to function later that day. Her movements came slow and deliberate. By the time everyone had come home, Rusti was dressed and sitting in her bed, reading.

Netty checked her temperature by hand. "Well, you don't have a fever. I guess you can go to school tomorrow, hu?"

Rusti stared.

Netty forced a smile, wondering why out of three children, only one of them never gave her any trouble. "I made a doctor's appointment for you next week. Sound good to you?"

Rusti silently nodded.

Wednesday morning found Netty in a bad mood. Rusti mistakenly asked to visit Fort Max.

"Why do you insist on making my life miserable?" Netty snapped as she slammed the counter. She bore holes into Rusti's face then turned away. She finished lunch and handed it to her daughter with a hard kiss to the forehead.

"Now, go on." She shoed the girl away with a wave of her hand. Rusti stared sadly and realized there was nothing that could be done. Wordlessly she exited the house and with a heavy sigh, adjusted her school books and marched toward the bus stop.

She crossed the yard of the next house. Something grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to the ground. Brian towered over her, his face pale grey, eyes glowing bright white. His cheeks flushed as he stared with a zombie expression. She struggled uselessly under his firm grip.

"Let go of me!" She demanded.

He slapped her. "Wanna know what I've been up to, little girl? Hu? Wanna know?"

"No! Let go of me, Brian! I'll tell Dezi!"

He jabbed her arm with something. "No you won't." And suddenly he withdrew from her. She jumped to her feet and he pushed her along her way.

She stumbled but caught her balance and rubbed her arm, wondering why he pinched her so hard. She watched him, baffled as he slipped around the corner of the house's garage and laughed. One of his buddies peered round the corner and also laughed.

Unfortunately, the bus arrived before she could speculate.

It wasn't until the bus approached school that Rusty realized her pulse raced. Suddenly she had energy again! Her eyes grew wide and she glanced at everything and everyone. A hot flash hit her and she gained the silly notion she should just take her top off. Her hands automatically gripped the bottom of her T-shirt and she pulled it half way up before she remembered she was out in public.

The bus stopped and she couldn't wait to get out. Kids left the bus like liquid and Rusti practically danced off the vehicle. Someone shouted at her, or she thought they did. Too bad!

The sudden energy boost was so nice! She practically floated to her English class and wished the teacher would move a little faster. Words? Oh, the V-TEST! Right. She scribbled insanely all over the paper and handed it to the teacher. Mrs. Crapper (giggle here) eyed her suspiciously.

"This isn't like you at all, Resonna."

Her eyes lit on fire and Rusti wanted to slap her silly. She ripped the paper from the teacher's grip. "My name is Rusti, dammit! What's the matter with you people? Can't you get anything right?"

She didn't wait for the teacher to react. Rusti stomped to her desk and collapsed into it. Her wide eyes ran with her high and wild pulse.

Mrs. Crapper (giggle here) knelt beside her. "Young lady, I'm far more than shocked at your behavior. I will send you to the principal's office if you don't apologize right now."

Rusti stared right at her. "Ssstatatish t'tid tanta chip'tattidi." She rolled it off her tongue as though it were . . . well, she was pleased when the stupid English teacher withdrew in shock and horror. Rusti just told her she was a bitch-in Autobot. Not that Mrs. Chadwell understood Autobot, but she was shocked Rusti could speak it.

The adult recovered enough to grab Rusti by the arm and drag her outside class. Rusti laughed inwardly and let her whole form go completely limp, just to annoy Mrs. Crapper (giggle here). It did tick the teacher off and Chadwell hauled up the nine year-old nuisance and paddled her twice on the rear.

It didn't phase Rusti one little bit. Chadwell brought her up to stare eye-to-eye but Rusti's eyes were too wild to take in just a part of her surroundings. She glanced everywhere her eyes darted every corner in the hallway. She drew a deep breath and finally shot her eyes into her teacher's.

Chadwell froze, unable to move.

Fire.

Color.

Pain.

Sorrow.

Vengeance.

Names.

People.

Faces.

Places.

Horrors with no names.

Betrayal.

Death.

Death.

Death.

And.

A power.

Unspoken.

Even among.

The Super Creatures.

Came.

And.

Devoured her.

One piece.

At.

A time.

Great wars.

Millions of years.

Billions of robots falling to their deaths like leaves in the

wind.

Unicron.

And a walking terror known only as the Robo Smasher.

Chadwell's voice whispered, oh so scarcely audible as she tried to speak of all the images that flashed through her mind in the millionth of a second. Her voice raised just a little more, a squeak, really. Her breath would not come but she finally swallowed and with that came breath.

Her frozen face, held steadfast by the terrible stare of Rusti's power-enhanced sea-grey eyes, finally creased in horror. The images and events so overwhelmed her mind that it stole her ability to voice the experience. And what started as a whisper, rose to a squeak. A short breath interrupted the squeak and that breath brought on a moan of despair and that despair came voiced by a longing to mourn for all the deaths, the torments, the betrayals. And from that mourning, that little whimper, she finally, finally drew another breath and screamed.

Wind ravaged the hallway and three students passing through freaked. No wind stormed outside. Books and papers flew in every direction. Doors opened and slammed on their own accord.

"Tatta'kah ahn kodach."

At Rusti's words, the glass windows in the hall shattered inward and the students and Mrs. Chadwell screamed. But not one of them were touched. The glass slowed in speed and stopped. It just hovered there, not doing a damn thing. Chadwell glanced behind her, breath stolen by the display of power. She withdrew from the little girl who stood there, a zombie in the middle of chaos. The glass caught the morning sun, shooting pinpoints of light up and down the hallway. Students in classrooms tried to break the doors down to see what was the matter but the same Power that held the glass fragments in the air, refused to allow anyone else to witness the moment.

The principal dashed up the hall's mouth. His and the secretary's jaws fell through the Earth's center.

Rusti stared at the glass bits and counted them. She gave each of them an Autobot name, just for fun. Naturally, there weren't enough glass pieces to account for every Autobot to have ever lived, but she imagined she could do the same thing in each of the other hallways and name those pieces, too.

But not today. She ordered the windows back the way they were and the glass reversed itself, reverting to its original form, not so much as a crack remained.

The class bell called for recess and the doors broke open and all the stupid little mundane kiddies dashed outside escaping their studies. The witnesses to Rusti's display lingered, unable to move or speak.

Darkness entered the corridor and Rusti watched it float down the hall, observing each child as they dashed outside. It looked like a stick figure, long and tall with long skinny legs and long skinny arms.

It had no head. It moved with a fluid motion that would have freaked Rusti out had she been in her right mind. It moved down the hall unhindered. It tapped its long handless arm on one little girl, then on a little boy. Another boy, another little girl. A spring-like device popped up from their heads, black as paint. They didn't know they had been marked.

The . . . yes, Rusti decided, it was an alien. The alien approached and she bared her teeth at it. "Sha'tda 'at Dana!" She snapped in the other language. The alien maneuvered around her and pressed forward. It was not permitted to touch her.

Time slowed. No sound. Rusti heard only her lungs take oxygen. People evacuated into classrooms by order of the five-minute bell. All that remained were the principal and Mrs. Crapper (giggle here).

Well, at least that's what Rusti could tell. Her eyes started watering. All that energy she had earlier ebbed away. Her face flushed, her skin burned.

Oh, were they talking to her? She could barely hear either of them. She batted her wet eyes and wondered why they stared at her so. Everything slowed further. Every molecule decelerated and Rusti thought she could feel the very earth beneath her rotate on its axis.

Sleep seduced her and breathing became laborious. Then soft fog rolled along the school floor and Optimus stepped out from the adjoining hallway, passing Principal Warner. She choked and reached for him. "Help me, Optimus!" She begged. "Someone poisoned me! Help me!"

He spoke, but she could not make out the words. His form began to fade. Cut off and abandoned, she crumpled, helpless.

"Help me!" She whispered. "Help! He's trying to kill me!"

Rusti lay in a comfortable lump of cloud beside a window overlooking the blue sky of heaven. An I.V. snaked out from her body and sensors lined her forehead and chest. The minute her eyes opened, she gasped for air, her chest tight, her head throbbing. She did not recognize her surroundings and her vision shifted before she could figure things out. Chanting touched her ears and she breathed harder.

Rusti slammed her eyes shut and then reopened them, hoping it would act like restarting a computer.

Well, something worked because now she found herself standing in a entry hallway at Central City's football field. She shuddered as the chanting grew and someone's muffled scream struggled to rise above the many voices. Rusti peered round the corner across the field and froze.

A large gathering of people in frightful costumes encircled a group of people tied and laid face up. Then one after another, each costumed attendee stabbed a victim. Over and over, they circled and stabbed until the leader stripped his mask and whooped in creepy tones, his excitement matched by his flaying arms. Then he dove head first at one victim. Rusti could not see what was happening because of those who gathered to watch, but the victim's sounds were horrible. One attendee turned and spotted her. He lifted her mask and Delphra smiled at Rusty with blood dripping from her mouth and face.

Rusti sprung up from the bed and drew enough breath to scream. The windows, the I.V. unit, the monitor screens, the TV and the mirror in the bathroom shattered.


	7. Chapter 7

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 7

Whatever affected Rusti earlier made her unbearably irritable.

"How do you know it was Brian who did that to you?" Netty asked for the third time.

"Are you calling me a liar?" The girl challenged.

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Daniel snapped.

Rusti bore holes into him. "If you think Brian is so innocent, you should send ME to jail! At least I won't have to put up with YOU!"

He raised his metal-gloved hand to slap her. Anger dressed Rusti's face like an animal poised to bite. Her cheeks flushed bright red and the monitor bleeped loudly as her blood pressure shot to dangerous levels.

"I think you'd better leave." The nurse announced behind them.

"We're not through." Daniel glanced at the over-weight woman. He turned back to Rusti. Her nose started to bleed, making her look like something from a horror picture. He withdrew, lowering his hand. He couldn't believe Brian caused this. She was his sister, how could he do something so cruel? Daniel knew Brian dabbled in experimental drugs, not really doing them on a regular basis. While some kind of a demon now possessed his daughter, Daniel was not willing to blame Brian for it.

And demonic was very fitting a description. The doctor ordered Rusti's hands bound to the bed after she tried to jump out the window. Daniel and Netty saw the room Rusti was in earlier. Not one shard of glass was left unaffected. One nurse tried to explain the scream wasn't just vocal, but psychic.

That was something Netty did not want to hear and she protested; her child was normal! But no matter how Netty tried to deny the truth, the proof stood in black and white.

Rusti gasped for breath and her eyes watered again. The nurse sighed impatiently.

"If you do not leave this room right now, I will call security. Whether or not she's your daughter, she's a patient of this hospital and we have jurisdiction here. NOW LEAVE!"

Reluctantly Netty aimed for the door, Daniel following. The two sent their daughter one last puzzled look. Rusti struggled against her bonds, growled at them and ground her teeth.

The second they left, she collapsed and gasped for air. The nurse slipped beside her and wiped the blood from her nose. Rusti stared at the ceiling, a shroud of shock and emotional exhaustion assailed her.

"Your folks aren't very bright, are they, Sweety?"

Tears fell over the sides of the girl's face. She was so ashamed of herself! "Sorry." She whispered. "I'm sorry!"

"Nonsense. They needed a douse of reality. Next time you see them, you should tell them 'Good morning, Sunshine! Want a chunk of reality? Nonsense, girl. If they were my folks, I'd give them dirty looks, too!"

It didn't matter anymore. She moaned inwardly, very much confused and ashamed of her behavior. "Optimus won't be happy." She mourned.

"Who? Oh, that reminds me:" she plucked a phone out of her coat pocket and dialed a two-digit number. "Hey, Sal? Wanna bring that stuff inta number 402? Yeah, they're gone. Okay. Okay." And she hung up then smiled.

Rusti did not return the smile, figuring they were just going to run more tests on her. She squirmed a little against her bonds then relaxed. The bonds were a good thing, she told herself. Going out the window was not. She thought she'd just transform (hahahaha.)and fly away.

The nurse gave her a swift sponge bath and dressed her in a fresher gown. Rusti had grown so accustomed to Op and Roddi bathing and dressing her the sponge bath didn't bother her. Of course, the two Primes didn't do it anymore. She could do it by herself. But it was relaxing having someone else do it for her. The nurse even brushed her curly hair and tried to smile into the girl's sad little face.

"Do you think Roddi found something at the football stadium?" She asked.

"Now, don't you fuss over something like that, young lady." The nurse admonished. "I'm sure if there's something to it, they'll find it. You just take for yourself a little vacation here. Order something to eat, girl!" That brought a smile to Rusti's face and the nurse protruded her lower lip and smartly nodded.

The door opened and a cart inched in covered with flowers and a single card.

Rusti laughed. "Optimus!" She giggled. "Oh, no!"

The nurse batted her eyes. "You don't like them?"

"They're from his garden!"

The pink lady peered round the cart and handed the nurse a drawing tablet and small box of pencils. "Said you'd want something like this to pass the time."

That was very comforting. No stuffed animals or boxed chocolates; something that meant more to her than either. Rusti sighed and the monitor above her dipped, indicating she finally relaxed. The nurse gazed from monitor to girl and found Rusti asleep.

Two days later, Rusti woke finding Op and Roddi there at her bedside. But not more than four hours later, she forgot their discussion. She felt disheartened because not only couldn't she recall what they said to her, but she remembered trying to Touch Optimus mentally and something blocked her. It was like trying to jump high into the air, but something kept her tied to the Earth. Rusti went over it in her mind time and time again. She never had so much trouble communicating with Op or Roddi before and for the first time, the girl understood isolation.

Rusti bitterly blamed her communication problems on Brian's drug. It was the only thing she could think of. Even stress had never kept her from Reaching either Optimus or Roddi.

About a day later, Rusti woke to the frightful face of her Aunt Delphra. The Reincarnation of the White Witch seemed to gloat over Rusti and the child wished she could disappear into thin air.

"Well!" Delphra's voice sounded just like Maleficent, "I'm glad you decided to welcome your mother and me. Care for some green tea, Little Girl?"

Rusti remained silent, even as her eyes drifted to the right and greeted her mother with much the same seriousness she once gave Roddi. But Netty wasn't here to cheer 'Resonna'.

"Resonna," Netty softly admonished. "Your aunt asked you a question."

For a moment Rusti thought her mother a spineless creature and turned to her aunt with a compliant nod. She watched as Delphra turned to a tray behind her and poured three small cups of tea, one for the each of them-without sugar.

Rusti inwardly frowned. She liked tea well enough, but it should have about two teaspoons of sugar.

"Resonna," Netty called again, "Aren't you even glad to see us?"

Rusti blew a little into the white China cup and gingerly sipped it before nodding. Her mother gave her a 'look' and Rusti realized the woman was looking for words, not 'caveman' talk, as Dezi called such gestures. Dezi was anti-antisocial. She would have nothing to do with guys who grunted or used single-worded sentences and she referred them as Neanderthal in nature. Rusti thought it was funny because she would catch Roddi doing it sometimes. But now she was going to have to laugh at herself. She suddenly understood the 'why' behind 'caveman' talk. You just didn't know what to say to the person. And meaner still, you really didn't want to talk to that person.

She really didn't have anything nice to say to either adult.

Delphra drained her cup and set it down. "Your mother and I have decided to start you on an herbal program. You'll need to purge your body of impurities and bad influences. It should restore you to a more balanced frame of mind."

Rusti stared at her in complete disbelief. All she could think of was Ultra Magnus listening in on such talk and rolling on the floor in a fit of laughter. She smiled just a little before sipping more bitter tea. She really hated the stuff, but knew better than to complain or reject it. She felt Netty's and Delphra's icy stares. She figured saying nothing was better than saying what she really wanted and end up with her face slapped off.

Sleep distantly called her. She finished her tea in silence, knowing how her aunt and mother were waiting for her to say something. But Rusti needed safety and peace not conversation. And while the hospital was noisy, at least she did not have to sleep in dread. She handed Delphra the empty cup and settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes.

The last thing she remembered were a few snatches of conversation between the two hens.

Her folks returned the very next day to collect her. Netty brought Rusti's jeans and a shirt, saying nothing about the large collection of flowers. Rusti dared not mention they were from Optimus. She still felt weary, still wishing with all her heart she could be taken to Fort Max instead of a bedroom vulnerable to invasion.

The very minute they reached home, Rusti dashed for the bathroom and vomited. Over and over she gagged and threw up. Dezi admonished their folks for bringing Rusti home so soon. But they paid her no mind. Rusti didn't listen to a word they said as she weakly changed clothes and crawled into bed. Her sensitive nerves caused her to shiver, her stomach ached.

Suddenly she hated her own bed.

As tired as she was, Rusti could not sleep. She feared someone might enter her room and start shouting.

Sometime later Dezi approached bearing soup and crackers. Rusti gazed at her, really too weak to sit up. Dezi sat next to her. "Res, you're trembling! Are you cold?"

The girl miserably turned away. The only thing her folks cared about was their stupid pride. Never mind the fact that she was still sick! Rusti closed her eyes and sought some kind of comfort from Optimus or Roddi. She felt worse but managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

Rusti woke the following morning to Aunt Delphra's face. The tall lank woman checked Rusti's temperature and laid an ice pack on her head.

"Well, seems we managed to rescue you from bad hospital food, didn't we, Resonna?"

Every time she heard that name, she hated it more. Rusti said nothing. She sniffed, unable to breath through her nose. Her eyes and skin burned.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Little Girl." Delphra lit two aromatherapy candles. "It seems there's a demon or two somewhere in that head of yours. Of course, we're not going to go parade such nonsense to the public, now will we?" She glanced over her shoulder, her lips lined in a smile. "You know, Sweets, I think if we were to send you to an after-school activity class, it might get your mind off those over-sized tinker toys."

She meant the Autobots, of course. Rusti's weariness kept her from snapping at her aunt's slanderous attitude.

"Girl Scouts, for example. I'm sure you'd make a fine girl scout."

Rusti thought about the new exo-suit Op and Roddi gave her. All she'd have to do was put that on underneath and summer camp would never be the same.

"Or!" Delphra's voice dripped with poison. "We could send you to Karate class or make you take piano."

Piano. Rusti thought about how prissy that sounded. It was good that someone else took piano and enjoyed it. But she was a tomboy.

Merciful sleep begged Rusti to close her burning eyes.

"Somebody talking?" Netty's voice entered the room. Rusti rolled her eyes inwardly and wished she could just crawl under her bed and hide away from them.

"Oh, Miss Sunshine here finally opened her eyes." Delphra cheerfully reported. "Maybe the fever's starting to break."

"Well, that's good." Netty's voice pitched to match her sister's enthusiastic babblings.

Rusti didn't see anything good about it at all. She wanted very much to crawl away.

The front doorbell rang and Rusti heard her mother's feet patter away. Delphra finally left the bedside, her high heels stomped over the thinner carpet in the hallway.

Finally some peace!

Netty opened the door and confronted a broad-shouldered woman with long hair woven neatly atop her head. A pair of glasses graced her face and a smart dark dress suit wrapped her well-toned body. She extended a hand for a shake. "Hi," she greeted a bit more sternly than friendly. "My name is Lace Ordaz. I've been appointed by the Douglas County Child Protective Services to investigate the welfare of Resonna Witwicky?"

Netty and Delphra exchanged surprised glances.

It took Rusti five days from that Wednesday to recover. Her mother insisted she go to school, having missed so much of it. Rusti would have to take summer school. The girl said nothing in contest. If she had to be home, she might as well go to school just to get a little peace.

Rusti hoped somehow she could just shrivel up and die. The stupid headaches returned again and her balance wasn't quite right anymore. She ran into things constantly, driving her mad.

She swept up her sack lunch and aimed for the front door, running into the door post. Rusti recovered and glared at the post, mentally cursing it. She corrected her course and left the house, without giving her mother a peck on the cheek.

That was alright. Netty was in a really foul mood; had been since that lady from the county visited last week. Rusti couldn't guess why.

She crossed the street from her house and paced the length between her home and the bus stop. Rusti crossed back doing anything to avoid the next few houses. She didn't want to get caught by Brian ever again.

The worst part was that Netty and Daniel didn't believe her. Rusti supposed she could have made it all up from Brian to her dream. But a get-well card from Roddi explained they found bodies in the football field just the way she dreamed.

Rusti dashed that thought. To think all those people were dead, and how they died, was too much for her.

The bus arrived and she half wished it would run her over. The girl climbed in, her eyes blinked at the driver. He turned to her and she swallowed air. The driver looked like a dummy, one of those creepy puppets ventriloquists used in comedy acts. A hard flat line made his mouth. Paint defined his wide eyes, and wooden eyelids topped their upper portion. A creepy purple aura bubbled about him and It stared before batting his wooden eyes.

Rusti forgot to breathe. His hands and face were made of wood. His legs hung limp in the seat and she wondered how he was able to drive.

"Go on!" One of the other children whined behind her. She proceeded, glancing continuously at the driver. Rusti found her regular seat in the middle of the bus and sat next to the window. She couldn't pull her eyes off the driver. The CB buzzed and spat and the driver, the dummy picked it up mechanically. His head jerked as he glanced left to right.

The bus paused and more kids ambled on. A girl sat next to Rusti while others piled in the back. Rusti laid a hand on the girl's shoulder to get her attention.

"Did you see the bus driver?"

The girl eyed her then stared at the driver. "What about him?"

"Do you see anything odd?"

She shrugged. He dresses funny."

"But . . . he looks alien, doesn't he, like a puppet?"

The girl eyed Rusti curiously then shook her head. "What are you taking?"

The bus arrived at school and kids filed off. Rusti waited until everybody left before she exited. She paused at the steps and stared at the adult-sized puppet as he filled paperwork. He finally attended her, his movements jerky. He clumsily batted the wooden eyes.

"Hello." He greeted cordially.

"Are you automated?" She asked, noting his voice was not the mechanical.

He laughed, his wooden mouth bouncing up and down, his purple aura flowed freely about his frame. "Automated? Are humans automated, young lady? Whaddo I look like to you?"

"A puppet or a dummy." She answered ever so seriously.

The twinkle in his emotionless eyes died and he stared at her in surprise. His left hand slowly entered his left jacket pocket and he produced a needle capped at the end. Rusti gasped and dashed out the bus, joining a group as they made their way to the lockers. She glanced back and watched the bus driver stomp out the bus and stared after her, slowly replacing the needle.

Something was very wrong.

"Pluto was once called 'Planet X'. Percival Lowell had requested the construction of a special wide-field camera. But it was not until 1929 that another astronomer, Clyde Tombaugh found Pluto. Then in 1985, Megatron built a space bridge and brought into our solar system the planet Cybertron. Now, Cybertron exists in a different kind of orbit from us. Can anyone tell me what kind of orbit it has?"

The stupid headache had come back, pounding into her head so that it danced down part of her spine. It throbbed on one side, then the other.

"Resonna? Can you possibly tell us what kind of orbit Cybertron has?"

The headache told her something was wrong. The world and everyone in it was right, she was not. Something was wrong.

"Re-tro-"

"Right. Retrograde." Mr. . . . Tumnus? Approached the black board and etched a representation of the sun and ten planets. "There's another planet we studied earlier with a similar kind of rotation."

"Venus." Some boy blurted.

"Good, Joey. But remember your manners here. Venus has a retrograde orbit. . . "

Something whispered in her ears and she tried to shake it. Rusti glanced at the clock then at the door. The line of a shadow passed through the crack between the door and its frame. The girl stared at it, befuddled. It slipped next to the teacher and stood there WITH CROSSED ARMS! Rusti lost her breath. She'd seen it before. She stood, ignoring the teacher's demand to sit down. She craned her neck forward, unsure. The figure didn't move as she aimed toward it, eyes and mouth wide open.

"Resonna Witwicky." Mr. . . Tumnus? called again.

She couldn't resist it now. Its arms lowered as she stretched to touch. It bolted for the door and she reached to grab it, actually touching it. It slipped out the room and she dashed after, glancing up and down the hall. Mr. Tumnus roughly pulled her in.

"What do you think you're doing, young lady?"

"I saw an alien!" She replied, her breath gone, her heart pounding in perfect rhythm with her head. "It was just there, watching us! It's not right! I saw it before!"

He took her arm tightly. "Page 363, everyone. First six paragraphs." He dragged her to the principal's office.

She tried to explain all the way to the main office, and kept scanning for other moving shadows. Nothing. Mr. Tumnus dragged her in and set her down in the front office.

"Hi, Phillis.' He greeted the secretary. "Is Mr. Warner in?"

"No. Mrs. Bramwell is in. Didja wanna talk with her?"

Tumnus hauled Rusti up from the chair and walked past the receptionist's desk. He opened the office without knocking and Bramwell swept her shoeless feet off the top of the desk and quickly got off the phone. "Oh, uh, you're . . . Tony Preto, uh, painting, right?"

"No. Doug Tumnus, science room 114."

Bramwell cringed. "Too many people working here." She muttered. She sat forward, fingers laced on the desktop. "What can I do for you, Mr. Tumnus?"

"I recommend this young lady be sent home. She disrupted my class and claimed she saw an alien."

Bramwell fluttered her eyes. "And what's your name, young lady?"

"Rusti Witwicky." Might as well cause more trouble, the girl thought dismally.

"Witwicky . . . Witwicky." Bramwell scanned the name through her computer and shook her head. "This is odd. All we have is a Resonna Witwicky. No Rusti listed here."

"It's bound to be a nick-name." The science teacher growled. "Her name is Resonna. That's what it says on my registration slip."

"Well, I can't verify that here." Bramwell shrugged. "Mr. Tooms-

"Tumnus." He corrected.

"Yes. Perhaps you could go back to class and bring back the registration slip."

"I just said what her name is!" The man's voice raised in frustration.

"But I have to verify that." Bramwell argued. "I can't just take anybody at their word."

"But you're taking her at her word! Her name isn't Rusti."

"Well, she's the one living with it, not you. Please, just get your registration slip."

Tumnus stared at her in sheer disbelief and departed, muttering something about insanity and substitute principals.

The minute he left, Bramwell leaned in the high-back chair and set her slim feet on the desk again. She plucked up the phone, paused a moment then smiled. "Hey, Sweet Cheeks, it's your sugar baby calling again. Hu? Oh, no, no. No trouble. Just a clever little girl making a nuisance of herself. Hu? Ooohhh . . . say it again!" The lady rubbed her neck and closed her eyes in pleasure. She moaned and traced a line between her breasts. Rusti smiled sheepishly and quietly left Bramwell to herself.

Nothing came of that incident. The bell rang and Rusty returned to the science room, grabbed her back pack and fled to the next class. The headache slammed into her and Rusti stopped dead in her tracks. Something jabbed her back and she fell, gasping for air. A hall monitor ran to her side, anxiously asking what was wrong. Rusti could say nothing. She fought for breath and pain pressed each movement. The girl held her head as though it would split in half.

The monitor yammered into her radio and tried to get Rusti to stand with no success. Rusti clung her and the woman recoiled at the sight of blood.

Rusti collapsed and remembered nothing else.

"I don't know except that she just fell and passed out after I saw her nose bleeding."

"Ah, huh. Thanks, Mrs. Broody."

Rusti moaned and lazily moved her legs. She made a half-hearted attempt to sit.

"Resonna?" Nurse Jenny's face came into view and Rusty moaned turning away. "Resonna, Hon, are you alright?"

Rusti thought about the question logically. If she were alright, she wouldn't be lying on the bed, right? What was it with adults and their stupid questions? Jenny withdrew and tapped her keyboard. Rusti slowly turned back and discovered a tall blonde lady with a well-formed figure staring at her. A set of glasses graced her face and a concerned look tightened her lips. Rusti stared past her, blinking.

The blonde woman smiled at her grimly. "Hello, Rusti." She softly greeted.

Rusti responded with as much surprise as her pained body allowed. "Hi." She replied.

"Been having a bad day?"

"You have no idea." She answered with one of Op's own phrases.

"Yes. No doubt." Pause. "Rusti, can I ask you a few questions? Will you answer them honestly?"

She blinked slowly again. "Yeah, sure."

Jenny sighed loudly and kept typing at the keyboard. "Parents aren't available yet." She growled.

"My name is Lace. I've been appointed as your case worker by the county."

Rusti squinted her eyes. "CPS?"

The woman smiled pleasantly. "That's right. You know about us?"

"I've heard other kids talk."

"Ah. You're a good observer. I'm not here to intimidate you. I'm here to find out what's wrong, and if there's something we can do to fix it."

Excitement caused Rusti to gasp for breath and she tried to sit up. But again her body forbade it. Lace waved her down anyway. "No, no." The lady signaled. "Just stay down. This is no guarantee. And it might take time before we can do anything."

"Would you believe me?"

"About what, Hon?"

"Brian. He tried to poison me."

That caught Jenny's attention and both women stared at her. Lace brought the chair a little closer to the bedside. "That's . . . pretty scary. Rusti, do I have your word you're telling me the truth?"

Rusti eyes began to tire. "He's a deadhead," she answered. "And he tried to make me one."

"Okay." Lace tilted her head just a little. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"He . . . takes bad stuff. And he made me do it. I tried to get away but he's bigger than me."

Lace nodded. "Rusti, is this the first time you've had a bloody nose?"

"No."

"How's your head, Hon?"

"Splitting open."

"Are you eating on a regular basis?"

"Whaddya mean?"

Lace paused and scribbled something on paper. "I mean . . . like, uh, does your tummy hurt after you've eaten?"

"Sometimes."

"And do you eat everything on your plate?"

"No."

"Do you play at all?"

Rusti looked away. "No." She curled into a fetal position and hid her face from the two women. She didn't see them at one another. Nor did she see Lace jot something more on paper.

"Okay. Rusti, Hon. I'm going to take you home. Can you stand and walk?"

Rusti just wanted to be left alone. Lace and Jenny caught each other's eyes again and Lace sighed, raising her brows.

Rusti approached the house afraid to find it the condition it was less than two weeks ago. Feebly she unlocked the door and stumbled upon entering. Her throbbing head caused her nose to bleed again.

Rusti closed the front door and heard Lace drive away. Who was that lady? How'd she know Rusti's real name?

Rusti greeted her room, dumped her back pack and entered the bathroom to clean her face and maybe salvage her blouse. It was the third one ruined this month. Her mother wasn't going to be happy. But it wasn't Rusti's fault. Something was wrong and nobody wanted to believe her. She took an old cloth and soaked it in cold water. Rusti returned to her room, running into the doorpost as she did so. She swept up her pillow and comforter and set them in her closet. Her folks didn't know it yet, but she had taken everything out of her closet and slept there all night last night. And sleep she did, too. There she could close both doors and feel a lot safer than being so exposed on her bed.

She turned her clock radio on, crawled into the closet, wrapped herself in the comforter and tried to pretend she was back in Fort Max.

"Oh. Migod."

Rusti awoke hearing Dezi's voice. She stretched and slowly crawled out of the closet. There was Dezi, standing in the doorway. Rusti watched as her older sister stepped around puzzles and board games and stuffed animals, color books, a few dolls and bits and pieces to a tea set. Dezi sat on the bed and stared at her little sister. "What 're you doing, Resonna?" She asked slowly but not accusatory.

"Sleeping." Rusti's voice sounded little in her ears.

"In the closet?" Dezi scrutinized as though she were crazy.

"I'm afraid to sleep in my bed."

"Why?"

Rusti only shrugged and hugged herself.

"Well," Dezi sighed and stood. "You can't sleep like that. Mom and Dad'll find out and they'll get mad."

"It's my closet." The little girl answered irritably.

"It's their house," Dezi argued. "They bought it. So you have to do what they say if you want to continue to live here."

"I don't wanna live here at all!" Rusti protested. "They're making me live here! I wanna live with Op and Roddi and they won't let me! So I'm sleeping in the closet!"

That threw Dezi for a loop. She had never heard her sister bite like that. On the other hand, the teen couldn't blame her. Res had become Brian's favorite target. If it weren't for the fact that the medical field now had the ability to mend bones with lasers and chemicals in a few days, she'd sport to break more than his clavicle.

It also occurred to Dezi she could not protect her little sister 24-7. That's how the 'other' incident happened. Her parents were in complete denial and Dezi suspected they were just doing a power play with the Autobots. Her dad had a control problem when it came to his kids. She remembered how he used to tell her how to dress when she was a little younger than Rusti. He did that until she went nuts. One afternoon the family walked through the mall. He fussed over her clothes and Dezi finally stripped herself naked-right there in perfect view of the public. Her father was infuriated and Dezi told him he was her father, not her master. It did the trick, alright. But he did other things to replace that inferiority complex. To get away from him and her weak-sister mom, Dezi buried herself in her school work. She figured she'd pick a profession that would carry her far away from them.

But Res didn't have that option. And Brian made the situation worse. Dezi even considered the possibility that Res' life was in danger.

The phone rang and Dezi dashed to grab it. Rusti lay back in her new bed. She supposed she should at least pick up the mess. But she didn't have the energy right now. The girl curled up and wondered when she'd be well enough to play again. Rusti sighed and closed her eyes, nearly falling asleep when Dezi came back in.

"Mom just called and said she, Dad and Aunt Delphra're going out with some friends tonight."

Rusti's eyes shot open with fear. "They're not going to be home?"

"No. So I guess you can sleep in the closet tonight. They'll be gone a while."

Rusti allowed a small smile of content to cross her face. She sighed and closed her eyes.

Dezi picked her way out of the room. "And I suggest you clean up your mess before they see it tomorrow!"

It took Rusti another two hours' nap before she had enough strength to move about. She cleaned the mess as best she could, neatly packing most of it under her bed. She concluded with finality that it was easier making a mess than cleaning one.

Rusti attempted homework thereafter while Dezi made dinner. It was hard reading with the stupid headache. She read each sentence two and three times before grasping the concepts. After an hour of trying to read the same paragraph, the girl gave up and put the homework aside. School was a joke and sooner or later she'd end up suspended or expelled. Everyone acted so concerned about her future that she viewed herself a failure. At this rate, Rusti figured she wouldn't get very far. Well, she supposed she could work at Micky D's or Burger King. Lots of people worked there for a living.

"Res." Dezi called, "Dinner."

The ladies sat to macaroni and cheese and Italian meatballs. They ate quietly. Dezi read, eating her dinner one small bite at a time. Rusti ate and ignored the TV's background noise. She played with her food more than ate. She wasn't hungry anymore, the headaches wouldn't let her eat and she wondered if she would die of starvation.

The door opened and Brian came stumbling in, laughing uncontrollably. Three of his buddies followed and closed the door.

Dezi stood, her eyes ice cold. "Brian, you'll have to tell your friends to leave."

Brian stared through a pair of sunglasses. "I didn't see Mom's and Dad's cars out there, Dez. What's up?"

"I said, your friends will have to leave. Now."

Brian strolled toward the garage door. "They'll only be here a moment or so, Dez. Don't fuss. Okay?" His buddies followed as Brian moved to opened the door. He kept his eyes on his big sister, not looking at Rusti. He opened the door and then switched quite suddenly, grabbing her, twisting her arm back. Dezi screamed and tried to wrest from his grip. Two of his friends gagged her. They dragged her to the other end of the room and tightly bound her.

Rusti screamed and tried to help her, but the third flunky gripped her. With one sweep, he cleared the table of its contents and slammed her on it, knocking her wind. She thought her head was going to bust open. Before she realized what was happening, the flunky ripped her shirt down the middle and undid her pants.

Rusti panicked and shrieked, knowing what he was going to do. She kicked him in the face (a lucky strike) and tried to roll off. He slammed her face-down again, ramming her head on the table's surface. He proceeded to remove her shoes.

Rusti tried to call enough strength to escape, but her arms wouldn't obey any of her commands.

Brian lifted her head by her hair and tore off his glasses. "You just think you're so smart, don'tcha, Little Girl?" He asked. "Guess what? I'm gonna teacher you a new lesson."

Rusti's voice caught in her throat and she pitifully whimpered while the flunky stripped her pants and ran his hand into her thick red hair.

"She's kinda cute, Bri. Mind if I play a little?"

"This is business, Manzo. Play later." He poured water into three pots and in the coffee maker and turned the heat on. He made a pitcher of iced water and drew a chair in front of Rusti and forced her to stare at him. "See, kiddo, it's like this. We suspect you know something. We think you've seen something you weren't supposed to see. So we're gonna teach you how to behave in public from now on. We're not gonna rape you, just teach you a lesson in behavior, how to keep your eyes to yourself and your mouth shut."

Rusti shook her head. "Brian, I don't know what you're talking about."

"The Dummy on the bus, Res." He shook a finger at her. "Bad, bad. You should just mind your own business. And you're a naughty little girl for telling them about the football field. So I've been told to teach you a lesson. Next time, they might kill you."

He picked up a pot of boiling water and stood over Rusti.

"No!" She struggled, but the deadhead beside Rusti restrained her, no matter how she struggled. She shrieked as water seared her back and legs. She just distantly heard the flunky laugh.

Brian shoved his face in hers again. "Now, do you understand what I'm saying?" He calmly asked.

She spit in his face, determined if he was going to kill her, he should do it now. To her horror, he licked it. She tried to cry, but shock allowed her little more than a warbling sound. The Flunky held her down tighter so that she couldn't breathe very well.

Ice cold water plunged over her burned back and she gasped in shock and shivered, whimpering. Then another douse of hot water scorched her back and she screamed again, certain he was going to cook her. She screamed when the freezing water hit her and she finally cried. "Brian, Brian, please, please stop! It hurts!"

Brian got in her face again. "It's punishment, little sis. It's supposed to hurt. Now, do I have your word you won't say anything to anybody? Huh? No words to anybody, right?"

"K." She wept. "K."

She screamed again when he poured a carafe of hot water over her head and down her tender back.

"NO WORDS, RES?" He shouted. "NO WORDS, RIGHT!" He slapped her. 'Right?"

"Y-yes." She hyperventilated.

"I can't hear you, Girl."

"Yes!" She tried to speak as loudly as her shock-ridden body allowed.

"And I have your word of honor?"

"Yes!"

"Good girl." He walked away and stripped off his jacket. His flunky friend swung around and kissed the bridge of Rusti's nose. "I'll get you in a couple of years, Miss Scrumptious." He vowed.

She laid completely still several moments after Brian and his boyfriends stomped out. Rusti shivered and finally covered her face and wept.

Dead silence followed. One endless moment followed another, neither of the ladies moved or spoke. The refrigerator kicked on, the clock moved another half hour. Rusti stared at the wall across her. She didn't take cognizance of the corkboard, all her mother's lists and notes, appointments and reminders. She didn't bother to frown at the picture of Felix the Cat or an old framed photograph of Loren Green as Commander Adama autographed by the actor himself and given as a gift from Grandma Carly years ago. Rusti didn't hear Dezi crawl on her hands and knees to the door and lock it.

Dezi turned and pitifully crept across the living room, her body trembled with trauma. "Res?" Her voice stammered and squeaked. "Res? Can you hear me?" she ignored the fact her jeans soaked with water. Mom and Dad had better kill Brian for this because for damn sure, she was. Rusti's head hung limp over the table's edge. Bright red blisters dotted her backside. Dezi carefully lifted her little sister's face and cringed when Rusty opened her eyes, wide and dark with shock. She looked like she wanted to scream but could not find the strength to do so.

Dezi gasped several times for breath and staggered to her feet. She bit the back of her hand deeply to keep herself from reacting so that she could not think. She needed to call 9-1-1. She needed to call her mom. She needed . . . to treat Rusti's burns first. She ran to the restroom and slammed open cupboards and drawers searching for the first aid kit. She yanked out towels and knocked over bottles and cosmetics before finding what she was after. She came back and found Rusti still lying limply over the table.

Dezi opened the kit and found an emergency burn spray, grateful it was still full. She carefully sprayed once over her sister's back and waited.

No response.

"Res?" Her voice trembled fearfully. "Res? Res, can you hear me?"

"Don't call me 'Res." Her sister weakly whispered. "Hate that stupid, ugly name."

Dezi had to bite herself again to keep from crying. She examined Rusti's back, now bleeding in areas impacted most. Dezi sprayed the medication all over her sister's body hoping to somehow ease the pain. She didn't know if Rusti could put any clothes on at all. She simply didn't know what to do. She used up all the spray then tried to dab little bits of pure aloe vera gel in other areas. But her little sister did not react, even when Dezi was sure she'd hurt her.

This was her fault, she was sure of it. She failed to do something about it a long time ago. She failed to . . . she didn't know, now that she thought of it, what she could have done. She plucked up a scrunchie from the bathroom and tied Rusti's hair. Then she used three tubes of Neosporin over the worst areas and tried to cover them with some kind of non-stick bandages. It wasn't easy because the affected areas were large and she only had so much bandaging at her disposal.

Where were her idiot parents? Dumb shits, she thought crossly. She paused in her work, now convinced Rusti had fallen asleep. This whole thing was their fault! This was entirely their fault! They couldn't control Brian, so they controlled her sister! She was out of their reach; she rebelled against that notion and gained a sense of independence through her schooling and since the family respected education, they left her alone. But Res wasn't that way. She was young and defenseless and all this; the mental abuse, the voluntary ignorance on their part, this was their doing. They were as much a deadhead as Brian and ideas poured through Dezi's head. She loved Res, wanted her to stay home. But not at this price. Not at the cost of endangering her life. But what could she possibly do?

She used up all the medication she could get her hands on. Bandage wraps and tape boxes and dispensers littered the wet floor as much as Rusti's back. Dezi sat on the floor against the wall watching her little sister just lay there, either asleep, unconscious, or simply unable to move. There was no telling how long their folks would be out on their stupid party. Perhaps it was better they weren't here anyway. They probably would simply fuss over her little sister, paying no mind to Brian and his boyfriends. Dezi decided to leave the mess for her mom to clean up. Naturally, her mom would tell her to clean it up, but she'd give the excuse she'd have to go to bed, get ready for school.

Dezi spotted one of Rusti's fingers twitch. "Hey, Sweety." She greeted with a cracking voice. "I'm sorry, Res. I can't do anything else. Didja want something to . . . drink or something?"

Rusti slowly lifted her head. Her skin felt tight and dry, but numb from all the creams Dezi used at her disposal. At least the pain was bearable from where she lay. But depression darkened her soul. Nobody really cared. Not really. She was so very tired! "I don't want to be here anymore, Dezi." She answered with a return whisper."

Dezi smiled wryly. "I wouldn't want to sleep on the table, either."

"No." Rusti argued. "I mean, I don't want to live here anymore."

Dezi looked very grim, almost old at that point. She lifted her knees and suspended her arms across them. "I know." She replied softly. "But I'll miss you."

"You're going away to college." Rusti reminded. "You won't be here anymore. And I miss Optimus." She finally wept and tried to hide her face.

Dezi cried too, but kept her tears silent. She rolled over on her hands and knees and wiped her sister's tears and kissed her forehead. "We should try to get you off the table. Can you slide off without hurting yourself?"

"I-I dunno." Rusti's voice came so weak. "I don't have my clothes-I can't put any pants on, Dezi."

"Yeah. I know." Dezi thought for a moment then took to her feet. "I know: I could go get one of Mom's moomoos. They're a bit frumpy, but at least you can wear it. Will that be okay?"

"Yeah." Rusti's voice trembled with her whole body. She watched Dezi disappear for the moment while she tried to talk her body into getting off the table. She slid one leg off the edge and when she felt no pain, slowly forced the rest of her bottom half off. She stumbled a moment once her feet touched the floor but she held onto the table and managed to keep from falling. Her back ached, but not with a burning ache. Her headache throbbed in low, dull pulsations and she bent and laid on the table again, finding suddenly she could not stretch her back very far. The bandages over it strained against the lesser burned areas and pulled a little too hard. She stood, exhausted.

Dezi returned a minute later bearing her mother's brown and blue moomoo. She rolled it up and Rusti very carefully inserted her arms first then Dezi slid it over her head and more or less let the shapeless dress drape softly over Rusti's tortured body.

The top portion of the dress slid over Rusti's shoulders and she tried to keep the neckline where it should be. "It's too big." She complained.

"Of course it is, silly." Dezi smiled. "Mom's a little bigger than you."

The moment was interrupted when someone keyed the door. Dezi dashed to the knife block and grabbed the petite carving knife. She stood in front of her sister and poised, ready for her dumb-ass brother to make his second appearance.

But it was Aunt Delphra who peeked through the door.

"What the hell is going on?" Delphra demanded.

Dezi sighed in relief and handed the knife for Rusti to put away. "We thought you might have been Brian."

"Oh, gawd, Dezi, what is going on here?" Delphra glanced around the mess, the water, the ropes lying on the floor and took note how the girl had light red coloring lining from her mouth to her ears.

Rusti set the knife back and watched her step carefully around the water-ridden floor. She stood behind her sister and gazed at her aunt in sudden and inconcealable shock.

"I said, Brian was here." Weariness kept Dezi from exploding with impatience.

Delphra gazed at Rusti, puzzled. "What's the matter, Resonna? Why are you wearing your mother's dress?"

Rusti's heart stopped. Her breath faded away and the world grew fuzzy and dark. Delphra, her Aunt Delphra looked just like a dummy, a puppet just like the bus driver. Her skin was wooden, her eyes collapsed when she blinked. Hard straight lines formed her mouth and her movements jerked.

Delphra reached for the girl. "Resonna, what's the matter with you? Why are you looking at me like that?"

When Delphra moved to grab her, Rusti fainted.

They waited until she regained consciousness before taking Rusti to the emergency. Rusti said absolutely nothing, even when Delphra and Netty tried to coax her and later threaten. She had nothing to say to anybody anymore. She didn't care.

The nurses, however, were very nice. One gave her a quart of chocolate milk and peanut butter sandwich which Rusti ate most of, but later almost couldn't keep down. It did feel good to have something in her stomach other than nerves. They worked on her back for two hours, making notes, drawing charts, cracking jokes (to ease her shock). By the time all was said and done, the pain was gone and they released Rusti back to her mother who very carefully hugged her. But one nurse wiggled her finger to talk to Netty privately.

Dezi and Delphra led Rusti to the car and waited for Netty. Rusti curled in the back seat saying nothing, doing everything not to look at Delphra. The nurses eased her pain and actually made her feel a little better. Rusti wanted that to last long enough to crawl back to her closet and sleep.

But even that plan failed when her headache started throbbing again. She moaned softly, so very much annoyed that she'd never be free of that horrible curse! Dezi patted her on the knee and shushed her.

Netty came out to the car and slammed the door, startling Rusti from her relaxed state.

"Resonna," she snarled. "Sit up straight and put your safety belt on."

Rusti obeyed while Delphra asked what was wrong. Netty did not want to discuss it in front of the girls.

They did not return until very late. Netty told Rusti to go directly to bed while she told Daniel everything-including whatever bad news given by the nurses.

Rusti was glad to get away from everyone. She closed the door behind her and turned on her radio, glad to hear techno-space instead of her mom's and dad's angry voices. Rusti slipped on her night gown and swept up her back pack. It was time to do something about this situation. She loved Dezi, but she just couldn't stay here anymore. She carefully set her drawing stuff in first then an extra set of clothes and whatever clean underwear she could pack as tightly as she could. It would be a heavy load in the morning, but she'd just leave her books in the locker and that would make it bearable. She opened her penny bank and collected seventy-four dollars. (Not in pennies). Tomorrow morning she'd snitch a little extra food, claim she's hungrier than usual and not come home after school.

Netty clearly indicated she would not argue with Rusti about school. And to her surprise, Rusti didn't. The girl even seemed a bit cheerful, in spite of the trauma she suffered. Not that she was the energetic nine year-old she used to be, but it was a better improvement over the last few weeks.

Rusti discovered her mom more of an idiot than she thought and slipped out the door, actually relieved she would not be coming home tonight-she'd be heading straight for Fort Max.

The school came into view. Some things just never changed. Rusti didn't dare guess how far behind she was now. Summer school was definitely going to be her agenda instead of spending it with Op and Roddi. Rusti cursed herself, but turned right around and congratulated herself at the same time. She finally took some control of her own life! Of course, she knew it'd stir trouble.

English flew by. Although Rusti knew she flunked her vocabulary test and the spelling. And the reading test. And the essay test. She wasn't really worried about it right now. As far as she was concerned, she was free.

Third period bell rang. Bodies bobbed up and down, in one side of the corridors and out the other. Science was next and Rusti wasn't sure if Mr. Tumnus was going to be too happy to see her-especially after she embarrassed him so badly in front of that Bramwell lady.

Thunder growled slow from the left side of the school. Children and adults froze in their tracks, glancing at one another. Puzzled looks plastered their faces. One second, two. And the rumble came back, blaring this time. People outside started screaming, racing to the safer side of the school.

Then a motorcycle rammed through the hallway doors, slamming them asunder and three huge guys in plated skeleton armor stomped into the hall. In each of their hands hung a large dark alien rifle.

Children and adults ran screaming. A car smashed through the opposite end of the hall, breaking the doors at the hinges and from its converted top emerged the very same three guys from the opposite side.

Rusti saw them for what they really were, walking dummies with wooden faces lacking most expression. All the attackers aimed at the crowd, poised ready to make the hallway a mortuary. Rusti lost her breath, her pulse raced as all events slowed in her eyes. She could see the panic in other people's faces as they scrambled over one another to escape. And then the Dopps started firing. The laser fire was brilliant white and it plunged into the chest of one hall monitor, the adult stumbled before falling to her death, her face frozen.

Rusti scrunched tightly against the wall next to the principal's office and searched for a way out.

Like the call of the devil to his great standing army, an explosion erupted, shattering glass and eardrums alike. Smoke spirited into the hall from those classrooms blown apart and the sprinkler system kicked in. The fire alarm blared all through the school, adding hysteria to the agitated attackers and their fleeing prey.

An explosion from the outside blew into the front office, just behind the girl. The three windows peeking into the receptionist's office were blown out by the resulting shockwave.

Rusti hugged the wall, daring not to peek outside, fearful someone would be lying in wait with an alien rifle between his hands. She thought about dashing into the closest hallway and crashing through the windows to get away. But she never got that far. While the first three men took pot shots at the crowd, two 'puppet' twins hauled out whips and began to press into the fray of running and screaming children.

Rusti slowly made her way along the wall toward the obliterated office to escape. She just brushed the door knob and it fell off, melted, perhaps from the explosion. She kept tight against the wall as people shrieked in fear and pain, pressing hard against her, running into each other or falling dead.

Rusti fell over in agony without knowing what hit her. She kissed the floor to avoid getting shot, only to get stepped on and tripped over twice.

The walls shook, and whatever windows were still in tact, now shattered, littering the ground. She laid right where she fell for a few seconds more just to get her bearings. People still ran back and forth, a terrified herd of cattle, ripe for the slaughter. A couple of boys foolishly punched each other rather than trying to find a way to leave the hall. Then she forced herself to crawl along the wall toward the front lobby. Three people lay dead about her.

Rusti forced herself to her feet. Three people were shot on sight and Rusti caught her breath. She again tried to escape through the windows when she backed into someone else. That same moment, another explosion echoed from the outside and three adults freaked and tried to attack the attackers.

The towering giant grabbed Rusti and pulled her hair and she screamed and kicked until he swung and pinned her against the wall. She choked and sputtered.

It was one of Brian's friends!

"Oooh, what's this? Our little playmate from a few days ago! How's the back, Sweetie?"

She blindly tried to push him away only to be caught by Brian. She tried to fight him off to no avail.

"What's a matter?" He screamed into her ear. "Not getting anywhere, Res? Need some assistance?"

"Lemme go!" She screamed back and tried to kick him or hit him or even bite him. She drew blood, but it didn't affect him.

Brian slapped her. "You gotta come join us, Res!" He shouted above the roaring, frenzied crowd. "You could be trained as a good fighter and you'd be a great asset to our cause!"

"Only to push you into the pit, you stinking bastard!" She shrieked. "LET ME GO!"

He raised a hand to slap her again but stopped and smiled instead.

She didn't like how he was smiling.

"Don'tcha worry any, Res. We'll fix you up for good. For damn good. We'll just let you have a taste of our power. You'd like it; well, some of it, anyway."

His flunky friend yanked her head back a little too hard and the girl choked. "Right here, Bri!" He slobbered greedily. "Right here."

"No." Brian sneered. "I want her to really enjoy it for a while." And he shoved the needle into the side of her upper arm.

A second later Rusti screamed.

A second later her scream died and she collapsed, her body now just a puddle of warm wax. The world fuzzed then fell into complete darkness. She tumbled out of control, the tunnel widened into a great chasm constructed of alien metal alloys and living circuitry. And it knew.

NOW WAS NOT THE TIME.

It can't be helped. This wasn't her fault. What was, was.

THEN, PROCEED.

Brian was still gloating over her when her eyes shot right open. His smile died. Her eyes burned bright white, her face held no expression. She stood and pointed at him. And when she spoke, the voice was ancient, powerful, neither male nor female.

"YOU HAVE TOUCHED A POWER NOT TO BE AWAKENED, FLESH CREATURE. ALL THINGS NOT OF THIS TIME MUST REMAIN DORMANT. YOU WILL LEARN THIS LESSON."

And Brian flew through the air and smashed into the wall. She came right at him, her tiny finger pointing the way before her. He was going to learn . . .

Another punk came at her and she pointed at him and his body became one with another wall. A wild and cold wind swept the hall and a roar echoed so that it rose above the terrorists' noise and the screaming children and their teachers. The fragments from all the shattered windows shot through the hall and sliced the faces of two whose bodies were contaminated with the same substance that now ran rampant in Rusti's own form.

Two more terrorists tried to sneak up behind. But they knew not the origin of her possession. It was a power far more ancient than the planet upon which their own bodies were fashioned, a power that fused creature life into the deadness of metal to rebel against a god who had no sense of responsibility.

And the great, ancient power shot from the tiny form of this little girl. Its brilliance overwhelmed the would-be attackers' vison, revealing its true self in their own minds and a terror took them.

To protect the child who blessed its bearers, the Matrix formed into a powerful alien creature and it devoured the attackers, pouring pain into their frail human forms so that their screams echoed eerily through the school hall and blended into all other noises so that all witnessed the power they themselves did not believe in.

Then the Matrix devoured their souls, brought the two men into itself and forced them to relive the lives of billions through wars and tyrannies unknown. They suffered every death, every torment, every pain Optimus Prime ever felt in his life.

And that pain alone was their hell. And with the screams of their souls, the horror of their torment, the Matrix was satisfied and it receded and returned to its corner nestled in Rusti's soul.

And.

All.

Fell.

Deadly.

Silent.


	8. Chapter 8

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 8

Prime sat at his desk hastily rewriting someone else's sloppy work. He had no idea who originally made the data entries from the Southeastern entrance logs, but he was certainly going to make sure they were done properly from now on. He finished the pad and set it in his 'out' box and swept up another. It was a fix-it bill for a damaged sign post from the city of Klammath Falls. Apparently one of the Autobots rammed into something. Optimus shook his head and entered the funds account number to pay the damage and the billing process with a respective apology. He set that pad in the same place and swept up a third.

The door buzzed but Prime did not bother looking up. "Enter," he answered.

Ultra Magnus stepped in and set three digipads on the desk. He wordlessly turned away, paused then turned back. The room stood disturbingly silent, even for Optimus' office. Perhaps it was because a certain 'Someone' wasn't there and hadn't been for weeks. He watched solemnly as Prime labored over another pad, scrolling down the page, glancing over a list of things, memorized them and signed it with a pointer. Prime set it aside and reached for another when he gave Magnus a second glance.

"Magnus. I didn't realize you were still here."

Magnus stared. He and Prime were relatively close friends once. But over the years, they drifted as Optimus kept more of himself from everyone. It hurt because Magnus thought so much of him and wanted to be included in the Autobot leader's very tight, very small circle of friends . . . if Optimus had any by now. It drove Roddi mad and the Second confided in Magnus his myriad ideas to break through that cold wall Optimus had built around himself.

However, the Major-General digressed, Optimus Prime really hadn't been himself since the Hate Plaque. The Quintessons might have the power to bring him back to life, but somehow, they didn't bring back the person he once was.

Magnus forced a grim smile, though he felt far from smiling. "I've doubled the patrols on the roads," he reported. "We've received reports of citizens crashing into railings or cliff sides because of things they think they're seeing crossing the roads at night or twilight."

"Is that so?" Prime reached for another pad. "Tell me, Magnus, have we had other unusual incidents in the city? Any fragments of odd occurrences?"

"Such as?"

"People in costume. Things or people out of place?"

Magnus solemnly shook his head. "Not that I've heard, Prime. They say, though, that there's a new designer drug out on the street. They call it 'joys."

Optimus looked completely impassive. "What's it made of?"

"Unknown. I'm sending someone out to investigate this afternoon. But I'm fe-e-e-e-l-l-l-i-n-n-g . . . app-re-h-h-h-ens-s-s . . ."

Darkness clouded Prime's mind. His optics no longer noticed his office, his desk, the digipads or Ultra Magnus. A thick dark fog rolled about him and a face faded in, laughing with an expression as old as his own life span. Three huge eyes dotted the face, eyes that spoke of horror-induced shock.

He blinked and found himself standing before a gift shop window, staring at the reflection of a body not his own. Prime touched fine soft locks of curly red hair and stared into the eyes of a human. He fell into them and drifted back, back.

He lost breath, recalling a dimensional tear and out stepped a tall lanky creature. Its skin glistened in beautiful colors and it looked at him, though it bore no face.

Someone whispered his name.

"It's all wrong," he whispered back. "This isn't supposed to be. This isn't supposed to happen now."

2036. Rusti was fifteen years old.

But the time slipped.

2033. Rusti was twelve years old.

But the time slipped.

2029. Rusti is nine years old. And she was healthy and active and alive.

"Was she supposed to die?" He asked no one.

No answer.

His hand lost the digipad and it clattered on a pile of other pads, sending four others to the floor.

The sound brought him out of it and he shrank away, ashamed he missed Magnus' words. Like so many other visions, it gave no answers or comfort to his questions.

Just like Vector Sigma.

". . . But I'm feeling apprehensive about the whole thing, Prime. I think we should call in extra back-up on this. There's . . ." Magnus stared at the Autobot leader who stared off into nothing. Optimus didn't seem the least bit interested in what he had to say. But when the digipad tumbled out of his hand and rattled on the desk, Magnus changed his mind and swiftly picked up the fallen pads. By then Prime recovered. He looked away, so obviously ashamed.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Magnus." Prime tried to gather the pads into straight piles. "I must be wearing down. Perhaps I should recharge or simply head into town, find something-"

Magnus laid a hand on Prime's arm to attain some kind of attention. "Prime," he called gently. "It's me."

Optimus locked optics with him. Magnus was a walking wonder in dire situations. For a moment, Prime considered explaining the vision to his old friend. But it was all abstract; based on assumptions, feelings and instincts. That would never be good enough for Magnus.

It was hardly good enough for himself, but Optimus learned over the years to listen to that Inner Voice. It saved his life more than once.

He managed to gather his poise. "Magnus, have everyone keep a sharp optic out. I suspect we're against something we haven't seen yet. Tell them to report anything out of the ordinary; even if it's a dog chewing gum."

Magnus offered Prime a final gentle smile. He caught Prime glancing to an out-of-the-way corner in his office where a beanbag, a shelf and a few toys sat deserted by their present owner. Optimus bowed his head, fingering a digipad. Magnus wanted to say something encouraging but could think of nothing appropriate. He left the office with a sadness he knew Optimus must be sharing at the same moment.

The afternoon fell quiet. The phones died to a roar and Tolomsky finally accomplished a little paperwork. It was a damn shame that fanatic had to kill himself; they could have used some information. But what of the six puppets in the 'present'? Was there a relation? Would Mrs. Jamison know?

Perhaps it was time to find out.

His cellphone rang and he plucked it off his desk: "Boss."

"Sir, we have a prank caller on line. I thought you might want to hear it."

"Thanks, Alice. Put it through."

"Hi . . . is-is this Tolomsky?" The man's voice came shaky, fearful.

"Unfortunately. What can I do for you, pal?" Tolomsky had little patience for punks.

"I, I have a warning for you. I-I have seen the twin. And I know of the six."

"What twin? Six what? Are you talking about the puppets? Did you send that thing to us?"

"I-I don't have much time. They're all around the city, you know. I can see them. I know what they look like. It's horrible! I have to tell you that the Watcher has seen enough; that the Killer is prepared. Oh, gawd! Not again! Not again! It's going to strike again!"

And the line cut off. Tolomsky sat there, a pillar of frozen puzzlement. He blinked and punched a series of six numbers and downed the remains of his water. "Hey, Aaron, I want a city-wide sweep, ASAP. No, I don't know what to look for, just have the boys look. I mean, REALLY look. Anything weird, out of the ordinary. Anything at all. Got it? And see if you can't have Streetwise come in a little earlier, okay?"

He was given an affirmative and the Chief wondered if his wife would be willing to make a nice, simple dinner. Soup sounded really good right about now.

Officer Farrington tapped his door and Tolomsky grunted a greeting. She handed him a thick manila envelope.

"What's this? A series of bad jokes?"

"No, sir. All the people who turned up missing last night."

"What?" He took the folder from her and set it down. He leafed through it, discovering a combination of high school students, children and adults, more presumably, parents. He gave Farrington a puzzled look. "What's this all about, Marge?"

"A soccer game held at Cascade High last night, sir."

"The city busses . . ."

"Sir?"

"A diversionary tactic. How many are missing, Marge?"

"Fifteen, sir. No discriminate age, gender or race. Just people."

Tolomsky rocked back in his chair and stared miserably. No sooner had one event occurred to shake up the city than something else happened. Who was responsible for this? Why haven't they made any demands? What was their purpose?

His cellphone rang again. He hoped his boys found something. "Boss." He nearly sang. "Streets!" He greeted. "Heeyyy! Streets! You comin' in today? WHAT THE LIVING HELL? Are you becoming psychic, too?'

'Mrs. Jamison called and asked the same thing. She said she was up all night with night terrors. We got fifteen people missing. I'll be here, waiting for you then, and I'll get in touch with Mrs. Jamison. This whole thing's starting to get personal. Okay, see ya then." And he hung up.

Jamison arrived at the police department just before Streetwise. She wore a long knitted sweater-coat and a skirt-and-blouse outfit. She swept her long dark hair into a braid, the rest of her hair sprung about her face and crown in tight curls. A pair of triangular earrings dotted each ear and two rings wrapped her index and ring finger on each hand. She slung a large hand bag over her left shoulder and clutched a rod in her right hand. Tolomsky left his office to greet her, trying unsuccessfully to shout above the growing noise. He led her into his office and shut the door.

"I'm sorry to drag you back here, Mrs. Jamison," he started. "I know this whole thing's been real hard on you. I've got a couple of my guys on the look out for other psychics in town that might be willing to help us. What's with the stick?"

She drilled holes into him with weary eyes. "I haven't slept all night, Mr. Tolomsky. I close my eyes and I see six faces and all of them are laughing at me."

"Oh." He stared at her, bewildered. Then it hit him. "Six? Did you say 'six'? Six faces?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I said."

"Would-would you come-no!" He was so excited, Tolomsky tripped over his own words, "Wait. You wait right here, don't move so much as a millimeter! I'll be right back!"

She waited, her impatience growing with her weariness. Mrs. Jamison gazed over the city from the second story window in Tolomsky's office. It was a fair enough a view, good enough to check any action on the courtyard and three streets around the city block. She took extra note how Tolomsky allowed no furniture or curtains to conceal his windows. A plant bordered each side of the window and the psychic smiled. Tolomsky had a good, strong soul. The city could never have been blessed with a better man for the job.

"Mrs. Jamison?" Tolomsky returned bearing an opened package. She turned and her smile died.

"Ohmigod." She whispered. "What under heaven is that?"

"A present from our friendly neighborhood terrorists." He set the package down and lifted the lid to reveal the toy bus full of puppets. Her reaction was very much like his: silent shock. She stared before circling the desk, her hands never once touching or nearing the gift.

"This is so . . . loud. It's shrieking in gibberish."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . there's so much energy here. A great deal of confusion. But it's organized confusion." She paused her pacing and just stared, supporting her chin with her hand. Tolomsky waited with held breath. Perhaps she could unravel everything and they'd drag the perpetrators in by six o'clock and he could sleep peacefully.

"They all have names," She finally deduced.

His mouth dropped. "Names?"

"Hmmhmm." She pointed to the first one, the one with three eyes. "That's the Watcher. She pointed to the next one with a simplified face. "That's the killer." Her hand bounced to the next puppet. "He's known as the Punisher." And the next one: "The Arsonist." And the one after that: "The Thief." And finally: "The Executioner."

Tolomsky grasped a pad and pen and scribbled all the names on it. He tore the sheet and set it under the box. He shook his head. "Man, I dunno what we'd do without you, Mrs. J."

She turned to him. "Chief, I need to visit the puppet museum. The one Blades and Streets went to."

Streets met them at the museum fifteen minutes after a call from Tolomsky. He stared uneasily at the ancient statue of Rrogoche, recalling what Blades told him two days ago. It looked as though it were ready to come to life and walk right out of the Japanese puppet museum. The curator busied herself with another group of visitors, explaining about the sixteenth century puppet and marionette theaters and how one man brought honor and laughter to something believed to have such a dark past.

"What do you mean dark past?" One visitor piped.

"Well, in ancient times, some cults used puppets and masks to represent their union with the gods they worshiped. They used puppets to represent themselves and masks to take on the god's power."

Someone else asked a question, but Streets spotted Mrs. Jamison approaching from the next room and his mind shot back to the problem on hand. He greeted her with a cordial smile and she returned it, though a bit more weary. "I've had all weekend to think about what you tried not to tell me Friday, Streetwise." She kept her eyes on a fox puppet, examining it from two angles before moving on to a little female puppet with a ceramic face and blinking eyes.

The moment fell awkward and Streets gazed at the statue. He shrugged. "I guess it's really nothing."

"It must be something. It upset you quite a bit."

He frowned and looked at her again. "I've been told the police department has a copy of it. We could ask Tolomsky. It is a part of the case, I guess."

"Gibberish?" She asked abruptly.

Streets stared at her in shock. "What?"

"It's what you're trying not to say. Something about gibberish."

He nearly swallowed air. "Yes." his voice fell to a whisper. "How'd . . . no, never mind. I don't want to know."

"They wanted me to walk into the cell where the only suspect stayed the night. But I think I'd rather wait. It's probably too active for me to approach yet."

"What do you mean?" Streets asked as Tolomsky joined them from another room.

"Psychic activity is like a fire. If it's a blaze out of control, like some strong emotions, it's too much for me to handle. I can't decipher it because it's too loud. I need to allow the energy to dissipate enough to approach it."

Tolomsky gave the statue a quick glance, but kept his eyes on his companions, "Does that mean you'll be willing to watch that video?" He asked.

Two responses came his way. Jamison gave him a surprised, but curios expression. Streets turned away, disturbed. Tolomsky took both as a yes.

"Yitic, he tisiv lahs. S-s-s-elbort . . . esssskkisss. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew." And it laughed, and repeated: "Doolb ruoy kil liw ew." And the camera closed on its face and the eyes bulged. "Doolb ruoy kil liw ew. Doolb ruoy kil liw ew."

Streets shuddered. The words stretched and moaned and the voice haunted him. But to his amazement, Mrs. Jamison seemed unmoved.

She sipped a cup of herbal tea and pointed to the video. "Chief, could you replay that?"

"Absolutely." And he rewound it. "I hadn't seen anything like this before. It's like some sorta devil language or something."

"Esssskkisss . . ."

"There!" Jamison called. "Stop. Play that again."

Tolomsky obliged.

"Esssskkisss . . ."

"Again."

"Esssskkisss . . ."

"Again."

"Esssskkisss . . ."

"Six." She deciphered.

Both Streets and Tolomsky stared at her in disbelief.

"Are you sure?" Streets asked. "How do you know?"

"It's backwards."

The two males again stared at one another.

"You mean, intentionally?" Tolomsky asked.

Jamison nodded.

Tolomsky whisked the disk from the machine and excitedly led them upstairs to the new and temporary investigations department. He handed one of his geeky 'kids' the piece.

"Jeff, would you run this backwards?"

"Backwards? You mean can I? Yeah, sure." He slipped the disk in, madly punched the keypad and zipped the mouse a few times. They waited a moment or two and Jeff laughed. "You guys think you're gonna find some kinda of prize in the words or something?"

The process completed before they could give him an answer.

"SIX TROUBLES SHALL VISIT THE CITY. WE WILL LICK YOUR BLOOD. WE WILL LICK YOUR BLOOD. WE WILL LICK YOUR BLOOD." And the puppet drooled.

All four people fell disturbingly silent. Mrs. Jamison hid her hands in her coat pockets. "You were supposed to find this. I think our terrorists are about ready to announce themselves."

Streets shook his head. We don't know what they look like. We don't know how to find them. There's no clues anywhere. It's like they're ghosts walking among the living.

Jamison shook her head. "No. There has to be something more. Something we're overlooking or something we haven't found yet." She noted a light of enthusiasm in Tolomsky's eyes. He enjoyed his work. "Chief, I'd like to visit that room."

Tolomsky led them below ground level. The chief unlocked the room, proving all evidence still lay untouched.

Mrs. Jamison went in after Streets. He scanned up and around the bed, reading the graffiti done in blood. Jamison tried to control the chills running up and down her back. The room stank.

Updegraff and a 'kid' approached. Streets paid no mind while they informed Jax about two families upstairs demanding explanations.

Jamison gasped. "Oh, Chief, could-could you turn the light out for just a second?"

"What?"

"Well . . . I think there's something in the blood."

Tolomsky obliged and the room fell dark. A moment later the blood began to glow. It was not a bright fluorescent greenish-yellow, but a dull lava-red color. And before everyone's eyes, the color changed shapes and a perfect imprint of the former prisoner's face glowed from the puddle. It rose six inches from the ground, forming a complete 3-D image in blood and darkness.

And the prisoner's eerie image smiled.

Tolomsky snapped the light on and laid a heavy hand on Mrs. Jamison. She jumped in a start and turned to him, a little annoyed.

Tolomsky sighed. "I guess we'd better get this analyzed."

* * *

Pedestrians, children below school age and young mothers dotted Central City Park. A young woman with dark skin and finely-braided hair of ebony strolled under the shade of several tall 'bottomless' trees. These were a gift to Central City from Beta Centauri. They stretched high, even above Optimus Prime and sheltered the ground with umbrella-like foliage. Their slender white and tan trunks ran smooth and perfumed the air with a soft milk-and-vanilla scent. A weak sun struggled to filter through the April clouds and cast warmth upon the Oregon ground. But for all its effort, the sun merely peeked through. 

The woman smiled, feeling privileged to walk side-by-side with the leader of the Autobots. "I can't believe you found me; if what you say is true."

The gentle Autobot knelt, trying so hard to bring himself at level with her. "I need your help." His soft voice drifted with the gentle breeze, as though his were the voice of a god. "Rodimus and I do not have the same capabilities as Human psychics. We need someone who can think on a completely separate plane, someone who sees with another frequency."

She gave him a sidelong glance. "This isn't exactly playing by the rules, you know."

"That's what's kept us alive."

She nodded. "When and where do I start?"

"At the hospital. Another break-in happened last night."

"And will you be accompanying me?"

"Perhaps."

"And what does that mean?"

He couldn't look her in the eye. His fingers twitched and ran along the soft grass carpet. Honesty is the best policy, he told himself. "It means I may or may not come."

The psychic nodded. "She needs you, doesn't she? How did you find out about the incident?"

Optimus could not help but smile inside. The one thing he liked about psychics is he did not have to play guessing games. And if they were really good, he didn't have to say anything. It was refreshing. "I have a good information system, Ashlyn. I know this city, I know people who work here."

"Then why do you need me?"

"Because the people we're up against aren't from here. I don't even think they're human. No one sees anything and yet we have one catastrophe after another. I don't know what's going to happen next and my concern is distracted because-" he was going to say 'I'm frightened for Rusti', but he cut himself off. That was his problem, his life. If Ashlyn could figure it out, all the better. He glanced from her now. Sometimes he wondered if Rusti's very name became far too sacred to be spoken. Was he that attached to her?

The Autobot leader supposed so. He was attached to her grandfather, too. And he missed Spike terribly. He could see so much of him in his little granddaughter. And how proud Spike would be of her, too!

Ashlyn threw her eyes on the ground, carefully concealing a smile. She imagined not many people had seen this side of the Autobot leader. He loved as deeply and fiercely as he fought. What a passionate individual! "Because you have other immediate concerns for the moment." She finished. "I understand. Look, if it's alright with you, I'd like to poke around, look at what's been discovered and visit some of those off-limits places. I'll need a day or two to get a feel of the city."

"Thank you, Ashlyn," Optimus answered softly. "Your help is invaluable." Prime stood to his full height and answered a bleep on his personal intercom. "I must leave." Optimus came back after a moment's pause. "They need verification down town. Something about metallurgy. And I want to see Rusti before then."

The spring breeze rattled the leaves above them and the psychic lifted her dark eyes to him, a smile on her face. "Time to save the world again, Optimus Prime?" She asked.

"Heh. Not that complicated. Not today." She watched him transform, his body folded and exchanged positions. Parts slid in and out of subspace and the trailer appeared from nowhere. Prime pulled out and she watched him disappear over the park bridge.

The corner of Ashlyn's eye caught sight of a pair of male twins. One regarded her coldly and reshouldered a heavy backpack. His eyes connected to hers and Ashlyn found herself sucked into a whirlpool of images, voices, voices, thoughts that came and spoke at random. Twins. Double. Twins. Double.

One soultwo.

a demonic puppet with three eyes laughed and an atomic bomb exploded.

It laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Darkness.

Drowning.

Two . . .

Heads. . .

One . . .

Mind. . .

"Someone call the paramedics!" The shout brought her out of it and Ashlyn found herself on her back, her head aching.

What under all heaven hit her like that?

* * *

Optimus and Roddi made their way through the hospital as quietly as they could. The hospital's long hallway stretched into an eternity of dreaded suffering. An old man slowly made his way down the hall, supported by a walker. A dutiful IV bag followed him. An old lady sat in a wheelchair, her eyes clouded with blindness. She muttered nonsense to herself, aware of nothing. Her hair, a wispy white cloud, gave her an eerie look of living death. 

Rodimus hated hospitals. He cringed at the sight of the old lady, so sorry nothing more could be done for her. He wondered what her life was like before this. And then he thought of Rusti and he flinched.

Optimus paused, realizing Rodimus was not walking with him. He turned and watched Roddi study the poor old lady. Optimus felt for his friend. He sense Roddi's fear and dread. They as Autobots would go on living while their human friends grow old and die, withering away like maple leaves in the bitter January winds. He laid a hand on Rodimus' shoulder.

_I was just thinking of Spike and Carly._ Roddi mournfully explained. _They were never given the chance to get that far. I don't know if that's good or bad. And then I think of Rusti._ He turned and the two continued on their silent journey down the hall, passing a nurse cradling a new-born in her arms.

_I've always believed there is a special place for our friends in the Matrix, Roddi. I think I will have to tell you about it someday._

Rodimus stared at him in surprise. He had forgotten! Optimus did die, and was brought back . . . _Where did you go?_

_Home._

But before Optimus could explain further, they arrived at Rusti's room.

The nurse threw them a dirty look as she left the room. She pushed a linen cart out in front of her. "Don't camp in there." She growled.

Optimus knelt in front of her, trying to be as courteous as possible. "I'm sorry. We were just hoping she was alright."

The heavy-set woman's face softened a little. "If you ask me, she'll be better when someone takes her away from those so-called parents of hers. I never seen a girl get so mad at someone before."

Op and Roddi exchanged glances. Rodimus looked puzzled. "Did they say something to her?"

"Oh, they said enough, believe me. They said everything but called her a liar to her face. Kinda mean. Poor kid. She can't help what she is."

"What do you mean?" Optimus asked innocently.

"Take a look in room 212. You'll see what I mean. Go on! Take a look!"

The two Autobot leaders made their way around a couple of nurses and peeked in the door. The curtains billowed in the night breeze. Nothing was left of the window. The TV sat without a face. Insurance papers hung from clipboards in every corner of the room and glass from the bathroom spilled out, testifying to one little girl's supernatural ability.

Optimus glanced at Roddi. "Did you teach her this?"

Rodimus' mouth gaped then he shut it. "Uht-me?" He caught a smile from his friend and was surprised that Prime had cracked a joke about something quite serious.

Prime looked back at the nurse. "Could you see to it that the hospital bills this to Fort Max? I don't want her parents involved in this."

"Fort Max?" The nurse inquired.

"Yes." Optimus confirmed.

"Well, I guess I could inform the accounting department."

"Good. Can we see Rusti? We won't be long. We just want to make sure she's sleeping okay."

The nurse melted and a smile touched her hardened face. "Sure. But she's tied to the bed, so don't try to free her."

The nurse walked out and Optimus gave Roddi a somewhat surprised glance. They entered as quietly as they dared, both taking either side of the bed.

Optimus drew the blankets closer to her shoulders while Roddi produced a small vase of flowers from subspace and set them on the utility cart. _Imagine,_ the Second grunted inwardly, _something this small making a mess that big in the other room._

_Yes. I'm sure it's giving Netty something to consider._ Optimus agreed. _I wish I could have been here to see their expressions when the nurse showed them the other room._

Rodimus sniggered. _It must have come as quite a shock. Maybe broadened their minds a little._

_Hmm. Doubtful. Might have put the fear of God in them, as the saying goes._

Rusti sighed and slowly opened her eyes. Optimus leaned for a closer look. "Look, Roddi," he whispered. "Shhh! I found a baby bird."

Roddi inclined a little closer too and smiled broadly at Optimus as much as he was at Rusti. "Lookit that! Hi, Baby Bird!"

Rusti wasn't sure what she was seeing. Two god-sized shapes bent over her, their bodies reflecting light from the hallway. Their bright blue optics assured her, however, she was with friends. She tried to scratch her nose but the bonds kept her from doing that. "What're you guys doing here?" Her tiny voice cracked.

Roddi's face brightened even more. "Was that a peep? Haha, she squeaks when she talks!"

Optimus' optics flared in silent laughter. "We were in the neighborhood, heard the hospital had a new addition in their pet farm and we came to look."

Rusti almost laughed. But her head throbbed too much for her to give a real giggle. She wrinkled her nose, wishing the itch would go away. Optimus kindly ran his finger down the bridge of her nose several times and Rusti smiled broadly, both laughing inside, and grateful he thought of her.

"Can't we adopt her? Take her home?" Roddi begged.

Optimus tried to control himself. "Sshhh! They'll hear you and kick us both out!" and the two of them sniggered.

The nurse peeked in. "Alright you two. There you go waking up the Miss. You'll have to leave, now."

Rodimus gave a mock pout.

But it was Optimus who whined, "But . . . she's cute. Can't we just take her home?"

"Oh no! I'm part of that package. You take the girl, you'll have to take me, too." The nurse raised a brow and set her fists on her hips.

Rodimus grinned while Optimus brushed the little girls' hair around her face and lined her chin with his finger. She missed his kindness and Rusti weakly smiled. "Seems your new nanny doesn't want us to stay the night with you, Rusti." Optimus said softly. "We'll come back and check on you later. Will you wait for us?"

Rusti drew a deep, sleepy breath. "Okay." She softly whispered.

Optimus tried to wrap his mind around her and comfort her but something kept him from doing so. He gave Roddi a puzzled look and glanced back at Rusti. She hadn't lost her abilities; the next room was proof of that. But something most certainly blocked their link.

The two Autobot leaders departed, leaving Rusti to sleep more peacefully than she had in several days.

* * *

Roddi later visited a hanger in Upper Level of Fort Max to solve a problem with disappearing shipments. 

"This is bullshit!" Autobot Stickler spat in front of Rodimus. The Autobot leader sat on a large metal crate, his chin supported by his knuckles. Rodimus was displeased by what he saw: a huge hanger, usually filled floor to ceiling stood only a third full. Out of a collection of a hundred and twenty-nine crates, only two were accounted for.

Rodimus could see immediately it was an 'inside' job. He didn't need Stickler to explain anything. Someone who had access and knowledge of time shifts and connections could do just about anything. Roddi retained his cool, but knew Stickler was exceedingly nervous. He had a right to be. But Rodimus wasn't going to do anything to him personally. Nope. That was Kup's position. The oldster was going to have a hay-day straightening this department out! Humans as well as Autobots were going to answer for this one.

"Let me get this straight, Stickler," Rodimus started with a cool, collective voice. "These crates were a shipment of certain ionized gasses for laser equipment and/or metallic hydrogen wrapped in anti-grav units bound for Delaban. But when Nuru Balkovitch did a property check, she found three cases of Pleadies Semi-solar .19 laser rifles, two cases of Pisces .26 Double-Target Pulsators and one box containing three Antares .105 Screamers?"

"Uhm . . ." The former Paratron Autobot suddenly became more nervous than before. "Yes, sir."

"And what exactly did you do with those shipments?"

"Standard procedure is to notify Ultra Magnus and city security, sir."

"And Kup and Magnus both were notified?"

"Uhm . . . not right away, sir. We . . . we set the weapons aside in the lock-up."

Rodimus bore holes into him. "You . . . set them aside in the lock-up. Stickler, do you know what an Antares Screamer is?"

"Uhm, it's-it's a weapon, sir."

"No. It's mass destruction wrapped in extra-terrestrial metal, held together by means even our science can't explain. An Antares Screamer has the ability to wipe whole cities with a single shot. I want everything checked. I want you to open every single one of these crates. I want them marked, photographed and I want every shred of photo and marking on digipads on my desk in two days."

"Two days!" Stickler cried out. His eyes climbed over the hanger, despair warped his face plates. The place was big enough to fit Omega Supreme and Superion in a single sitting.

"Two days." Rodimus confirmed. "And no mistakes." He walked away, glancing at Kup who's placid expression promised the job would get done.

"I've never seen anything quite like this before." Of course, that wasn't the first time Perceptor was known to say that. His whole face concentrated on one sample of blood given by the Central City police department.

Optimus sat in the laboratory for three hours, his attention waning while the long-winded scientist babbled on about the properties of Human blood. The only exciting thing to have occurred in those three hours was that the Autobot found some properties in the blood to be 'of foreign nature'.

But Prime could have told him that. Optimus' thoughts drifted from the cluttered lab toward Someone he missed. He tried to Contact her; one occasion of several, really. But each time all he would get was static.

_Roddi?_

_Yeah._

_I can't Reach her. Can't Talk to her._

_I know. I've been trying too._

_Something's blocking us . . ._

pause.

_I know. I know._ pause. _where are you?_

_R & D. You_?

_Topside. We got missing shipments. Weapons disguised as _

_merchant goods._

_Oh, Primus._

_Tell me about it._

"I've got it!" Perceptor cried. "I've got it!"

Optimus merely stared at him, optics narrowed. "What?"

"I-I would prefer a staff meeting, Optimus. If it's alright with you."

"Right now?"

"Yes. I think this is important enough. I think the Protectobots should be notified of this immediately."

"Very well, Perceptor. Meet us in Conference room 23 in one hour."

_What? What's up, Optimus?_

_Perceptor seems to have found something._

Streetwise tapped three more sentences into his report while people filed into the conference room. Eight EDC officers, Tolomsky and two of his chosen 'boys and girls' and Fort Max staff took their places around the table. Rodimus sat next to Prime and scribbled a note and silently passed it.

FOUND MORE BODIES. NORTH-SIDE OF CENTRAL CITY.

Prime took his turn to scribble. MUTILATED?

YUP. MISSING EYES. ONE WOMAN IS MISSING HER LIVER.

Optimus stared blankly. But no expression touched Roddi's face. He needed rest.

Preceptor set his notes along the table end and checked his slides then handed out a report booklet. "I know all of you are anxious to see what I've discovered." He turned to the wide screen and clicked on the slide projector sitting behind it. The familiar twisted parallel lines of DNA code activated.

"As you all are aware, this symbolizes DNA. Every living creature's body is encoded by its strands. It acts as a computer code. Now, this:" here he changed slides, displaying Human blood cells and what appears to be a sample of alien blood cells. "Is a sample of Human blood. The slide next to it, here, shows the blood sample of an alien species known as the Chapronite."

He changed slides again to show yet another blood sample, similar to the Chapronite blood, but off-color and mixed with Human blood cells. "Here we have a sample of the blood found in the terrorist's cell after he died. The properties are yet undetermined but, the discovery is, that whatever infiltrated the terrorist's body, is A: of extraterrestrial origin and B: has unknown characteristics."

Rodimus stood, one hand on hip plate, a pointer between his fingers. "Perceptor, what you're saying is that whatever that other stuff is, it's not from anything here on Earth. Not some kind of drug?"

"To my knowledge, Rodimus Prime, the properties do not coincide with any narcotic that I am aware. If you speak of the recent narcotic known as 'joys', then I most certainly cannot acknowledge any connection between them. Narcotics are, for most intents and purposes, manufactured. This:" here he pointed to the screen, "Is of natural origin."

Prime leaned forward, laying his arms over one another. "What exactly does that mean, Preceptor? What are we dealing with here?"

"I do not know the answer to that, Prime." Perceptor pretended to straighten a small stack of digipads at the edge of the table. "I only know that if this terrorist's blood is a small sample of what we're dealing with, it's a sure thing we're not just dealing with ordinary Humans. What exactly this DNA has to do with the terrorists is also an unknown. Are they using it for super strength, super endurance, or just ceremonial rites? I don't know."

Blaster contacted Optimus via interpersonal comline while Captain Marissa Fairborn asked another question.

"Prime." Optimus silently answered.

"There's something on the TV I think you might wanna see, Boss." Blaster advised.

Optimus 'hung up' and turned to Perceptor. "Excuse me a moment, Perceptor." he broke between EDC Colonel Rapsech and Tolomsky. He swept a remote device from the center of the table and pressed three buttons. The slide screen disappeared and the wall slid open to reveal a flat glass panel. The 'TV' flicked on and the face of Rodney Kanes appeared.

"Once again," the news reporter stared at the camera, his face a mask of solemnity, "we have brought you coverage of the Doppelgangers. We encourage any vigilantism to remain in silence. The police department has not yet answered our calls-"

And just then Tolomsky's cellphone bleeped. He plucked it out of his pocket. "Boss." He grunted. "Yeah, I got it here, Jeff. I'm watchin' it live and free. Thanks. Just, just keep everyone calm. No one is to talk to the reporters until we hold a press conference-what the hell?"

The reporter 'fizzled out' replaced with the Watcher puppet waving hello from the right side of the screen. It walked to the center and cleared its throat.

HELLO, CENTRAL CITY AND FORT MAX! I'M WATCH 'R. I'M HERE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO SOME FRIENDS OF MINE. I KNOW YOU HAVEN'T MET THEM YET. BUT AS OF THIS AFTERNOON, YOU'LL GET TO MEET ONE OR TWO OF THEM!

Another puppet danced out and opened its arms wide and took a bow. He stood straight and Magnus recognized the face on the spot. He nearly leapt out of his seat. The face was a Simple Smile Face with the eyes closed in upper crescent forms.

I'M KIL-R.

Mrs. Jamison cried out and hid her face. She shoved the chair out from under her and darted out of the room, screaming. Streets jumped after her but Hotspot beat him to it, silently indicating that he should stay and study this escapade.

I HAVE ANOTHER MESSAGE! Watcher declared: IT IS THE WILL AND DESIRE OF RROGOCHE THAT SORROW SHOULD REIGN ON PLANET EARTH. AND WE, HER DISCIPLES, HAVE DECLARED WAR ON CENTRAL CITY, ITS CITIZENS AND THE AUTOBOTS.

Blades, Streets and Groove all jumped out of their chairs. Blades knocked his over, his optics remained transfixed on the screen, although he knew Optimus eyed him. He trembled in horror.

Watcher stepped close to the screen, his face ugly, dry, dim in color, eyes white as sheets, the dark pupils small. PUT YOUR TOYS AWAY, EVERYBODY, THE DOPPELGANGERS ARE IN TOWN!

And the very next minute, the reporter's face fizzled back on. Optimus turned to Magnus. "Ultra Magnus, I want you to take six of your best commandos into the city. I suspect our terrorists, these 'Doppelgangers' are waiting for someone to catch them red-handed."

Streets and Blades stood, hands on the table. "Sir," Streets directed. "With your permission-"

"Streetwise, have you found any other information?" Optimus interrupted.

Streetwise's complexion turned downcast. "Nothing that we haven't just now seen, sir." Prime turned silent and Streetwise glanced up to see if Prime was studying him. It turned out that Op and Roddi were silently staring at one another. Roddi's optics narrowed and the two broke optical contact. Rodimus turned to Streets.

"If the terrorists are going to strike again, can you guess where?"

Tolomsky stood. "I'd like to try that one, Rodimus." He intervened. "I don't know if you've gotten Street's report yet, but the Department received a gift from the Dopps; a toy bus filled with six puppets. Two of them were seen just a moment ago. If the Watcher is giving room for the Killer, chances are, that's what's going to take place. I think-and this is only a guess-I think we're looking at the possibility of whole groups of people in danger."

The room fell silent. Tolomsky's words hung heavy as neutronium. Some EDC members fidgeted, shuffled papers, shifted in their seats. Most of the Autobots simply sat there, still as stone.

Optimus broke the tense moment. "I have already taken liberties to hire another psychic. I don't want to leave any part of the city left unchecked. I can guarantee that every Autobot here will give you all the help you need, Chief Tolomsky."

Tolomsky popped another sunflower seed in his mouth. "'preciate it." He smiled.

The conference doors opened and Mrs. Jamison and Hot Spot entered. She looked pale, worn, but at least in control. "I'm going home to get some sleep." She announced. "You guys can pick me up tomorrow at ten A.M. Okay?"

Streets gave her a warm smile. "Need a lift, Mrs. Jamison? Or would you like to walk home?"

The meeting dissolved and Optimus headed straight for his quarters. Tons of work cried for his attention, some of it days overdue. But he was too tired anymore. He ached inside and missed a Laughter. His strength bled from him a little more each day.

"Commander, Sir!" Hotspot's voice trailed after him and Optimus turned as the Protectobot leader dashed after him across the courtyard.

Prime traditionally saluted the Protectobot leader. "Hello, Hotspot. What's the matter?"

"Matter? No matter, sir. No. I was talkin' with Rodimus Prime a night or two ago and he mentioned somethin' 'bout your little Miss having a vision 'bout Morgan Stadium. Thought I might come and ask permission to take Mrs. Jamison there for a look-see."

Optimus flinched in surprise. "Good idea, Hotspot," he praised. "Perhaps I'll even accompany you."

"Pfff! No you won't." Rodimus argued in the Central building of Fort Max. Groove spilt Hotspot's plans while he finished spell-checking his report. Roddi sat at his desk, listening to every detail about the cylinder bomb from the now-destroyed Bureau of Investigations. In between the battery story and the failed detonation device, the Protectobot spat about having to go visit Morgan Stadium. Could be tomorrow, might be tonight, depends.

And Rodimus managed to catch Prime just leisurely making his way down the hall, tracing his hand along the walls, not knowing someone was watching his private game.

Optimus stared at his Second for a long silent moment, baffled that Rodimus had been outright abrupt. "What?" Was all he was finally able to say.

"I'm going. That's settled."

"Rodimus!" Prime threw him a crossed expression.

"Look, I've been watching you over the last few days. You're uptight, nervous and exhausted."

"Said the motor to the engine." Prime growled.

Roddi mutely shrugged. "Touché. But, I'm not as tired as you. You fell asleep on your own desk yesterday. We're both worn out." And Optimus drilled holes into Roddi with his optics. Again, Roddi shrugged. "Okay, the deal: you rest now. No working. When I get back, I'll take a snooze.

Optimus' expression remained cold. He actually wanted to go. But he was in no mood to argue. He acquiesced-this time.

The cold April night turned a bit bitter for Mrs. Jamison as she disembarked from Rodimus' body. Streetwise and Hotspot transformed after their leader while Blades, Groove and First Aid more or less checked the parameter of the brightly lit football field.

Mrs. Jamison shook her head and covered her ears.

Rodimus concentrated on their psychic friend. "What's wrong, Mrs. Jamison?"

"It's too loud here, Rodimus. I can't hear myself think."

Rodimus glanced all about the vacant stadium, half expecting to see crowds of people and the Central City Centurions hacking it out with the Lunar Colony. But there was no one here but he, she and the Protectobots. "I don't understand."

"There's too much psychic footprints to single anything out. I can feel laughter and disappointment and children shouting and adults tossing their worries and frustrations aside for an afternoon or evening. If what you say is true, and there is someone here, I can't pinpoint it because of the interference."

This was bad. Rodimus was expecting a certain 'yes' or 'no', but too much noise? "What can we do? What can we do to reduce the noise?"

She looked frustrated and shook her head. "I might be able to work it out if I had another psychic here. We could channel the noise. But other than that, I'm not sure what to do."

Streets stepped up. "That other gal Optimus talked to, she might be able to help."

Rodimus nodded. "Good idea, Streetwise. It's not too late yet; see if you can contact her."

They didn't have to wait long. Ashlyn arrived and drew her coat more closely about her body, folding her arms. "I didn't get the whole story. What are we doing here?"

Rodimus courteously knelt and sensed a slight air of fear from her. "A friend of ours had a nightmare two nights ago. She described this field and a group of people and said she suspects someone might be buried here."

Ashlyn scanned the football field. "I see. I can sense there was a trial here once, wasn't there? Something about an oil field and stolen energon and 'Berger'?" She gazed back. "Not Sean Berger of Berger Industries, is it?"

Rodimus gave her a wry smile. "I don't have first-account details, but yeah, there was a frame-up several years ago and Central City held a trial and found Optimus and the other Autobots guilty. Optimus complied with the exile. He found out later that if he had resisted, instead of following his instincts, Berger would have released a virus killing both Autobots and Decepticons."

Streets stared at his leader in shock. "I didn't know that. Optimus never said anything of the sort! Everyone was so mad at him for making such a dumb decision!"

"Yeah." Rodimus sighed heavily. "He doesn't talk to me, either."

The ladies moved across the field first, walking completely parallel with one another. Rodimus watched while they kept their heads high, their senses stretching to the finest limits of their own life force.

Tolomsky remained behind Streets, crunching on a small supply of pretzels. His eyes shot back and forth across the field, glancing at one seat, then the whole stand. He gazed at the bright white lamps above and the scoreboard standing south of the field. His breath fogged when he sighed in weariness and wished he had coffee.

Mrs. Jamison turned from her position in the centerline and produced a small 2-way radio. "I don't sense a damn thing here, Streets. Not a single shred of death."

Tolomsky grunted, disappointed. But he wasn't about to give up. "There's gotta be something we're overlooking."

Rodimus bowed his head and crossed his arms. He was tired and worried that maybe Rusti had been wrong. It was pretty seldom she would have such notions, if at all. But whatever had brought on this vision, strained her terribly.

Roddi's optics narrowed. Maybe that's what was wrong with Optimus. Maybe that's what was wrong with him. Maybe.

Ashlyn returned, hands in her coat pockets, her scarf cuddled close to her neck. "What exactly did your friend say? Maybe it's not the location so much as the event that she saw."

"She said she saw a warehouse out by the football field and heard a lot of chanting. A group of people in costumes stood in a circle around another group of people tied lying on their backs-"

"Wait." Ashlyn held a finger up for attention. She turned away and walked about twenty-five paces east. "Chanting. Here." She stopped at the thirty-count and turned back to the group. "Okay. Okay, is there a warehouse somewhere nearby?"

"Used to be." Tolomsky grunted. "Till they tore it down some years ago."

Both psychics stared at him and the Chief shrugged. "There was a . . ." his face fell dreadful pale, his eyes widened. "They found someone committed an act of cannibalism . . ." He couldn't swallow.

Ashlyn pointed at him, picked up the vibration of his emotion and pointed as she turned clockwise, seeking another vibration just like it. She stopped about north by northwest. "There." She declared. "What's in that direction?"

Tolomsky shuddered. "That's . . . about where the warehouse used to be."

Ashlyn froze, unable to move from that center of energy. She stared in one solid direction for a long moment, not sure where to go from there.

Mrs. Jamison moved toward her, hoping to pick up on the signal and carry it forward. But she moved not more than ten paces when something shot up before her. She gasped, yelped lightly and gazed at her feet. In front of her lay a little bit of barren earth, easily taken for a gopher hole. She about turned to Streets when her eyes spotted at least a hundred people in the stands. "Where did they come from?" She asked her companions.

Rodimus followed her eyes but saw nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The people in the stands, Rodimus. All those people there."

"There's nobody here but us, Mrs. J." Groove assured her. But he digressed and he and Rodimus glanced at one another.

"Ashlyn?" Rodimus called.

Ashlyn spun about on her heels and pointed south. "There." She called. She pointed south by south west. "There." She spun west. There."

"Ashlyn." Roddi called again.

"She can't hear you." Jamison answered. "She sees only the life force of those murdered here."

"We need time to mark the places." Rodimus replied.

"She's not going anywhere. She can't. She's locked."

Roddi looked back at Tolomsky. "I think you'd better get someone down here. It looks like Rusti was right."

Hot Spot and Rodimus watched, sick with horror as excavation crews, Groove, Blades and Streetwise dug up body after mutilated body in Central City's Morgan Stadium.

What infuriated Rodimus was the very same piece of land dedicated to a woman who lived to protect life, should be desecrated by religious fanatics. Morgan Stadium was dedicated to Jessica Morgan who risked her life to bring Optimus Prime back from the death throws of a supernova. She died shortly after the Hate Plaque, weakened by shock from injury during the Decepticon assault on Metroplex in 2012. Optimus deeply grieved her loss, refused to attend the funeral.

Hot Spot shifted his weight and crossed his arms. "It'll be a mighty cold summer this year, Prime." He spoke softly, as though what he said was testament to what they were watching. "I'd just like to know how she knew."

Someone across the field cussed profusely and Streetwise carefully picked his way around. Rodimus watched while the Protectobot examined the area and talked at length with the Human worker. Finally, Streetwise lifted his optics and opened the internal comline. "Boss, it looks uglier than we thought."

"Lay it on me, Streetwise." Rodimus answered softly.

"Bones, sir. Looks like several bodies were buried here a long time ago. Hard to tell how many."

Rodimus' face turned impassive and he stared away. It seemed that whatever the Doppelgangers did, they had been doing it for quite some time.

* * *

The baby wouldn't stop crying. Netty did everything she could think of to quiet the child just long enough to get rest. Dr. Cynar tried to talk above little Resonna's screaming, giving Netty a high dose of sleeping pills. 

That was when Optimus stepped in. He was checking up on Captain Fairborn's status after a battle with the Quintessons just outside Pluto's orbit.

And the baby's crying quieted a little. She held a little arm out toward Prime, her weight distracting her mother and caused the diaper bag to fall off balance from Netty's shoulder. Netty tried to hand the baby to Cynar, but the doctor rudely withdrew, unwilling to help. She turned to the Autobot leader.

"Would you mind holding her for a moment?"

Optimus lowered his hand and Netty practically dropped Resonna into his huge blue hand.

Resonna stopped crying altogether. She sighed, shivering. Netty stared in mute shock. What did that mean? The poor mother shuddered and dropped the bag.

"Optimus, would, would you mind too much watching the baby for a couple of hours? If I could just get some sleep-"

"Well . . . I really don't know much about babies, Netty." Prime admitted.

"Oh, it's real simple." The mother brushed. "You feed them, change their diapers and pat them to sleep."

"Oh. Ah-huh." Optimus didn't know everything, but he knew there was a lot more to babies than a simple feed-and-change system. However his optics caught the sight of the little girl fast asleep in his hand and that was about all it took.

He did try to send the baby to the EDC complex with one of the officers, but the baby just cried again the moment Lt. Baines took her. Optimus resigned with a patient sigh. He was stuck for the evening.

And he found he would be willing to do it all over again. The baths and the stories, the times he'd catch Roddi softly singing her to sleep, then chuckle sheepishly at Optimus.

Prime sighed in misery as he lay on his flatbed, trying to rest. He missed his baby bird.

Something pierced Optimus clear through and he practically jumped off his flatbed. He shot up with a sharp gasp and laid his hand on his chest.

Something . . . he dashed out his quarters and downstairs into the com room. Blaster turned with a quick choke.

"Man, I was just about ta call you, Prime!"

"What's wrong, Blaster?" He asked directly.

"Three idiots from that group attacked one of the Aerialbots in New York, started another fight. One of the Throttlebots fired and killed one person." For a moment, Blaster read anger in his leader's face and then it passed. Optimus glowered. "Very well. Contact Skyfire and tell him to meet me-"

Another radio transmission squawked though the airwaves just as Roddi stepped in, weary from a long ugly night. Blaster talked with whoever was shouting as Optimus sympathetically turned to his friend.

"Roddi." He said softly.

Rodimus wrapped his arms about himself and stared at the floor, sickened by the bodies they dug up. Optimus laid a hand on his shoulder and the Second didn't know whether to brush Prime off, or fall into his arms. But in front of Blaster and a couple of his aids, Prime did neither.

"Uh, we got a situation out on the highway." Blaster announced. He received weary glances from both Primes and it made him grin.

"What is it?" Optimus asked before thinking about ordering someone to carry Rodimus to his quarters.

"Something about a barrier on the road, blocking traffic." Blaster went silent, listening in again. 'No, make that two, one on either side of I-5 north and south."

"On the Gateside?"

"Well, south on the Gateside bound for Oakland here. But there's one on the I-5 for Yoncalla North-bound in Central City."

"Fine. I'll take Ultra Magnus and check it out."

Blaster turned completely around from his control panel. "But someone's gotta go to New York. Would you like me to send-"

"I'll go to New York." Roddi muttered.

"What?" Blaster asked.

"No you're not." Optimus argued.

"Someone needs to look at the blockades. And someone else needs to go to New York."

Prime shot him a dirty look and Roddi knew he was reneging on a promise. "I can sleep on the way to New York. Honest. Besides, you and Mags have better knowledge of this area, the aliens and so forth."

Prime said nothing, staring in disgust. "I seem to be a bad influence," he muttered and stomped past Rodimus.

Blaster heard it and waited until Optimus was out of the room before turning to Rodimus. "What's eating him?"

"He's worried about Rusti."

The wee morning hours welcomed the light of a terrible awakening for Douglass County's Fort Max and Central City population. All the main roads leading in and out of Central City and Fort Max between Umpqua/Oakland and the road en route to Black Butte and Cottage Grove, Oregon, were cut off.

Great dark shapes, like gods built of smooth metal, sat in the very center of the highways, prohibiting any to pass. Tall, they were, standing fifty feet, if not of greater height. And they remained unmotivated, either by laser fire, or by force of will or other weapon. They remained steadfast, gates leading into, but not out of hell.

EDC, Central City Police, Oregon National Guard, and Fort Max officials did everything they could to remove the extraterrestrial obstacles. From bullets to bombs, flame throwers, rocket launchers and cannon balls, acid of all strengths nothing scratched the surface. Officials came to two conclusions: A.) That the material had to be of unknown technology and B.) Central City and Fort Max were under siege and they had to declare a state of emergency.

Optimus Prime watched from a short distance while construction crews kept hacking away at the invulnerable block of darkness. He heard Magnus slowly stomp up the hill and without looking at his city commander, Prime tilted his head a little.

"They knew precisely what they were doing, Magnus." He said softly. "How in the universe did these things appear? Why didn't anyone report helicopters in the area? Or anyone crossing the roads at night? How could these things just suddenly be there?"

"No one saw a single thing. I have the whole city working double-shifts and still . . . you have to admit, the Doppelgangers are good. They've thought of everything."

"No." Prime argued. "Not everything. There's still two options open for us."

Magnus nodded. "Air support and the railway."

"Right. And the Chapronite ambassador arrives this afternoon."

The two fell quiet. Magnus stared at the huge block of cold steel. Its reflective surface stood blue and white in the late morning sky. Humans and Autobots milled about its foundation, trying every conceivable means to damage it. Then Magnus stared at Prime and thought how much like the object Optimus seemed just then; unmovable, unemotional.

And he wondered if there was anything left of the Optimus Prime he once knew.

Prime finally turned to him, his arms falling away as though suddenly burdened. "Ultra Magnus, I have to go to town. Bring the Dinobots out. Set them at post and meet me at the airport."

Magnus threw him a confused look. "The Dinobots, Prime?"

Optimus didn't answer him for a long moment. He gazed at the huge block. "You know what this reminds me of, Magnus?"

The city commander thought it over carefully and finally had to shake his head. But he thought again and set his hands on his hip plates. "The "Present of Peace" principle."

"Right." Optimus praised. "You bring something into a town, something people won't consider dangerous and later on, you spring a trap."

"And what do you think might be in that box?"

The words reminded Optimus of something else . . . something he was supposed to have done and simply forgot. He hated the stone. It reminded him of a coffin. A mausoleum.

A monster in the cold and the dark.

And he was so sorry he could not say anything. No one would either understand nor believe him.

It wasn't so important anyway. Not really. He laid a hand on his old friend's shoulder strut and wondered why Magnus put up with him so well. He silently left, knowing he just didn't have the ability to say anything at all.

It left Ultra Magnus cold and heartsick.

Magnus had to drag the Dinobots out of their football field in order to accomplish his objective. Well, it was more than that, actually. He had to admit that ordering Wheelie to tempt the Dinos out to the windy mountain roads by playing football with them was a bit underhanded.

Hmmmm . . . maybe underhanded was a strong word to use. Devious, scheming, twisted, deceitful . . . deceitful was a good word. He didn't tell Wheelie that the Dinobots, who had played football with Rusti on a regular basis, might confuse the little Autobot AS the football. How Rusti, a fragile human girl, could play such a rough game with the Dinos and not get flattened was a miracle.

Op and Roddi must have had a hand in that or something. At least, Magnus wouldn't put it past them.

"Keep it up, Wheelie!" Magnus cheered on. "You're doing a wonderful job!'

"Wheelie not like football!" The little Autobot complained as he puffed along the closed road. "Not a good career at all!"

"Rrrrrr! Me Grimlock say shut up and run away!"

Sludge transformed into his robot mode and lumbered hard after the little yellow bot. "What did he say?"

Slag merely chuckled and stamped the pavement with his huge rounded body.

Magnus and Hotspot watched from a safe distance as the Dinobots neared the great barricade. Upon arrival, all five Dinobots spotted the city commander and Grimlock shook an angry fist, but Magnus was too far away to hear what he said. Magnus was prepared for this too and had ordered Chase and Getaway to play with the Dinos until further notice. It wasn't necessarily a fair order, but it was the only way to ensure the idiot Dinos would not rebel too quickly and return to their lair.

After everything was in place, Magnus left the reigns to Brainstorm and Chromedome and made his way back. Wheelie caught up with him, a bit scratched and dented. He said nothing to his superior, but Magnus could tell he was pouting.

"I'm sorry, Wheelie." He finally answered. "I know you feel I was unfair. But it was the only way to get the Dinobots out of their comfort zone."

"Sorry, bigger bots try to plea, but they don't get stepped on like me."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you can accompany me to the airport. Optimus Prime is there now waiting for the Chapronite Ambassador to arrive."

"Oh, that's swell! Wheelie will live long enough for another tale to tell!"

"Uhmm . . . yeah."

Other than the shocking story of the great barricade holding the two cities at the mercy of would-be attackers, the population went about their everyday business. Shocking events was nothing new for Central City. They had suffered through Deception enslavement, a meteorite invasion, power outages due to Decepticon attacks, horrific storms and other things that would take too long a time to enumerate. These incidents were just another occurrence in the long line of happenstances since the Transformers' awakening in 1984. Even the bombs, the bodies, the bizarre circumstances around the Doppelgangers failed to frighten the populace into something less than living their lives.

For the most part.

Magnus led Wheelie over the Ribbon and across town northbound where the airport and Optimus waited. They came to Franklin Street and stopped at a light. The next street was crossed by the rail tracks and Magnus instantly remembered how Optimus pointed that the airport and the rail way were two systems of transport still leading into and out of the city.

It was indeed a frightening thought. Most people used the rail system; it was very cheap (another 'gift' of Berger Industries) and well-kept.

The light turned and Magnus and Wheelie proceeded forward and crossed the tracks down Lincoln and into the city's university district. They moved with up town traffic, stopping and going, slowing and stopping altogether. They advanced a little bit and someone cut in front of Wheelie. One red light. Two.

Groove honked from across the street and Magnus acknowledged him via interpersonal comline.

"I thought you would be with Streets and Blades."

"Nah." The motorcycle answered. "I had ta switch with Mr. Bright-and-Shiny since I needed more time to work on that disc."

"Sunstreaker?" Magnus clarified.

"Yeah. He was grumpy about it, though. They sent him to the VR Center."

"And what are you doing right now?"

"Nothin. Thought about going to join Springer. He has Upper level duty for a while yet. 'Aid says his shoulder joint still needs rewelding."

A flash of light crossed Mangus' scanners. He quickly searched the area for its origin, but dismissed it when he found nothing. "Well, Prime might need someone at the airport."

"Oh, goodie! I get to watch airplanes take off and land! Whooopie!"

Magnus mentally shook his head. The light turned and he and Wheelie pressed forward, obeying the pressure of crowded cars around them. They drove down five blocks, Groove not far behind them and the road curved right and under another pair of towering overpasses. Railroad arms lowered across the street and the metro train honked, warning of its arrival. Magnus, Wheelie, Groove and about twenty other cars around them waited while one train car after another came and went until-

BA-BA-BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMM!

The heat, the suddenness of the moment and the rush of the explosion tossed a white Honda and two Chevrolets end over end. The shockwave shoved Magnus back and tipped him over on his side. The explosion picked Wheelie up as though he were made of paper and tossed him into the nearby muddy slough. Groove fell on his side and transformed, shielding his head from the terrible heat as his body scraped the blacktop, pushed away by the wave. He tried to figure out what kind of a bomb would make such a tremendous impact.

Magnus transformed and tried to clear his rattled circuitry. He stood, albeit a bit shaky, his knees a little weak. He assessed the situation, still trying to clear his head. Five automobiles lay either on their sides or upside down, every one of them burnt to a crisp. Those two cars sitting at ground zero were melted from the front-ends, their tires now puddles of melted rubber, leaving the rest of the vehicles tipped-up as though bowing to the train. All the nearby plant life burned.

The train lay motionless, a car crossing the streets spilt off the railway, its side gutted and it too lay black and smoldering. Its position dragged six other cars off the track, three more threatened to tip over in like fashion. Survivors panicked inside two train cars away. Someone managed to punch open an emergency window from the back side of one car and people scrambled over each other like drowning rats. Magnus tried in vain to contact Max. He cussed under his breath and struggled to push the heavy train back on the tracks while Groove moved to help the survivors escape their would-be tomb.

"Wheelie?" He radioed.

The little Autobot transformed and pulled himself out of the muck. He looked very misplaced. Something was out of place; "Oh!" He smiled sheepishly and turned his whole body around until his head faced forward.

Magnus ignored him. The train proved heavier than he thought and he kept pushing. His optics scanned the destroyed cars, ascertaining that most of the passengers and drivers were quite dead. People, young and old added to the blood seeping from the cracks and seams of the derailed train. Automobiles lay about like so much roadkill.

Magnus watched as Groove helped a couple of ladies escape their turned-over minivan. The City Commander decided to abandon his attempt to set the damaged train upright. Too many people needed help until better assistance arrived.

Something bit his shoulder and the sudden pinch forced him to stop what he was doing. Magnus examined his shoulder and found a small projectile lodged in it. He wondered where the Human 'toy' came from. He heard no gun fire, no residual echo or high-pitched whine of a pulsar rifle.

He picked at the little doohickey stuck just under the surface of his superstructure, finding it nothing more than a nuisance. If the Humans were trying to attack him, Ultra Magnus was not impressed.

But his picking caused part of it to dig deeper into his arm while the other half exploded in his hand, blowing off the tips of his left thumb and index finger. He stared at his hand, surprised to be attacked in such a manner. It was amusing, really, like a Human trying to blow out one of those trick candles that looked like it was out, but the wick flared again.

Movement caught his optic sensors and Magnus gazed upward. To his right, he observed Groove helping two people assist a third out of his car. To Magnus' left, a human stood atop the blackened overturned train car. An exo-suit of alien design encased his body in what looked like the skeleton of some strange animal. The skull of a bull crowned his head as the helmet, the horns arched like Death's arms open to receive new victims.

Ultra Magnus had never fired on a Human, never killed a Human in his entire life. He respected the children of Earth.

But this . . . that is to say, that he and his fellow Autobots always fought with Central City police to control criminals. But this went far beyond his comprehension. Sure there were criminals in every species. But the Doppelgangers had gone beyond mere criminality.

And that issue served only to confuse Magnus further.

Which was why he froze so hard.

A beast made of steel and extra-terrestrial metal roared from behind the buttresses and support beams of the two overpasses. People from the other side of the tracks who still sat huddled within their cars, waiting for help, abandoned their vehicles. Many tripped over their own feet and each other, screaming in uncontrolled reaction. It was the sound, it had to be because even Magnus, who had been fighting all his life, on both sides of the Cybertronian civil war, had never heard a sound quite like it. It screamed from a deep hollow throat. It appeared from under the passes pounding the blacktop with solid steel tires, heavily spiked for traction as though with claws. The vehicle had no cabin to speak of, or as far as Magnus could tell in three seconds. It was encased in the very same material that made the barricades on entrance and exitways between Central City/Fort Max and the rest of the world. A twin barrel laser cannon sat proudly atop, the rest of the vehicle came with other laser weapons and rocket launchers of several varieties.

The vehicle roared as it sprung up on its back wheels, hauling its over-sized chassis over the fallen train. It came right at Magnus. The City Commander slipped right as the vehicle crashed hard on four crispy automobiles. People scampered in every direction as three police cars arrived.

Groove stood across the street, a swear word soundlessly touched his lip components. The truck was beautiful and ugly at the same time, dark and shapely.

Magnus fired a rocket and it might have had impacted had another monster vehicle not suddenly appeared. The vehicle rounded the other side of the train and blew away three cars, now emptied of Human life. Magnus' rocket slammed nearby the overpass. It tossed Wheelie right back into the ditch from which he climbed.

Magnus leapt as the second truck came for him. He sprung himself over, using the top of the alien vehicle for leverage as it passed under him and he landed behind it, firing at its backside.

The Doppelganger atop the overturned train car laughed behind a face mask and shot two people as they escaped. His laser rifle emitted powerful bursts of burning light, bursts that seared clear though the escapees.

Wheelie pulled himself out again and fired at the Dopp, but he wasn't aiming to kill the Human, just to incapacitate him. The Dopp merely stepped out of the way and shot back at the Autobot. The burst of light slammed square in his face. Without a sound, Wheelie flipped and rolled back into the sewer.

Groove wasn't so hesitant. He produced his weapon from subspace as 'Laughing Jack' shot down three more people. Groove fired and 'Laughing Jack' wasn't laughing anymore.

The second truck ran over cars like a mean-spirited boy tormenting a helpless animal. It aimed a harpoon at the City Commander and Magnus dodged it, but spurting acid splattered all over him. Magnus cried out and fell, his skin on liquid fire. The truck aimed to crush him with its solid steel spiked tires. He rolled out of its way and struggled to control his pain while his outer skin sizzled in his own audios. Magnus stood, shaking, and faced his opponent.

Ultra Magnus stared at the obscene terrorist as he danced victoriously. The Doppelganger tore off his mask and whooped and hollered, laughing until Groove shot him.

Magnus decided he wasn't fighting Humans; but evil taking on Human form. Surely no civilized, compassionate Human could be this cruel, this arrogant as to blaze a warpath destroying his own kind.

Whatever the Doppelgangers were, they were not Human; they had no Human soul.

Something shot straight into Magnus' chest and a set of blades snapped out, slicing and digging into components and circuitry. It cut power lines and hydraulics. It passed through muscle cables and lodged itself into his endoskeleton and yanked. Magnus crashed violently, unable to cry out. The second truck roared and sped away, dragging Magnus down the street, shocking his frame with bouts of raw power. Magnus' body twitched and jerked as electricity overloaded him, threatening to blow him to pieces. He managed to draw his useless gun from subspace. But his arm kept bucking. He forced himself to concentrate in spite of searing agony. He fired a single shot up the tailpipe.

The truck blew out from below and one scantily-clothed Human abandoned the now-useless vessel. He jumped all the way down, not so much as losing balance. He bore a huge weapon in his arms and stared at Magnus who was too weak to move now. His systems all but shut down.

Groove scampered to help the Big Guy as the vehicle dragged Magnus down the street. But the first truck screeched right and fired, slamming Groove's backside. The Protectobot cried out and fell flat. The Police tried to shield him, firing at the truck as its solid metal tires ate up the road and sidewalk, meaning to finish the injured Autobot.

"No!" Grove waved the police off like so many flies. "Save them!" He meant the injured people who stood in the line of fire. Groove's insides smoldered and he coughed twice, his own strength giving way while his life blood flowed over the street. He fired at the truck again, watching while each laser blast simply bounced off the alien vehicle's chassis.

It occurred to Groove he was going to die. The truck shot a harpoon into his chest, frying his circuits with electricity.

Groove briefly wondered if he was going to be a Harley in Heaven.

The Humans climbed atop Magnus, a scenario, it would seem, of Gulliver, conquered by the Lilliputians. Distantly, the City Commander heard the first alien truck roar its battle cry. He heard laser fire and struggle as his mind did, he could not get his body to move.

The Dopp standing on him, convulsed as though in an epileptic seizure. Magnus could not believe his own optic sensors as he watched the Doppelganger contort, his body bulged and heaved and his whole form divided in half, front from back and in seconds, there were two of them, two of the very same person. They jumped off and dividing their gun, they stood on either side of Magnus' arm and shot it clear off.

Fluids poured from the wound and Magnus weakly struggled. But the lance, lodged deep inside him, only pressed against a vital component, threatening to crush it.

The twin terrorists made their way to his left leg and aimed to shoot it too. But a laser from elsewhere spat and missed one of them. Both twins turned and fired at Wheelie, slicing his arm at the shoulder and puncturing a deep wound in his right side. Wheelie fell with a pitiful moan, collapsing and rolling, once again into the ditch.

Then one twin exploded, fragmented like meat in a blender, splattering all around Magnus' knee.

"Get that train up and watch your feet!"

The remaining terrorist proceeded to blow Magnus' leg apart but he too ended mostly vaporized.

Rodimus arrived with a screech of his tires. He transformed and checked Ultra Magnus while First Aid tried to dislodge the lance. Magnus attempted to say something, anything, to warn Rodimus. But his own mind fell dark with exhaustion and pain. Hotspot, Hosehead, Streetwise and finally Blades rushed in, organizing and assisting wounded into ambulances.

"Where's Groove?" Streetwise asked as he watched Hotspot transform and douse burning trees. Blades and Sideswipe opened a car like a tin can and helped emergency crews with other victims.

Rodimus glanced around, finding nothing more than injured and dead Humans, the now-smoldering truck and Ultra Magnus lying in a gathering pool of life blood. All the Autobot leader could do was gaze at Hotspot.

"Blades, keep your scanners peeled for Groove. Get these people out of here, that's got to come first."

Rodimus brushed a little dirt from Magnus' face. "I can't believe they would be this brave, go this far." He stared at the obliterated truck. "Hotspot, you don't think this was what Springer saw when he was attacked, do you? You don't think there might be more of these?"

"Hard to tell, Sir." Spots replied quietly. He rained fire retardant at the train while Sideswipe and Hosehead pushed it back on the tracks.

Hotspot found the puddle of lubricant on the ground where Groove had lain. "Anybody see anything?"

"There was a huge truck, just like that one," an onlooker reported. There was a battle, but I'm afraid your friend's lost. They took off, carried him with them."

Hotspot gazed to First Aid as he loaded three more people in an ambulance. "I'm not getting any signal at all. If Groove is still alive, he's unconscious and unable to contact us."

"Your other friend there in the ditch tried to help, but the terrorists got to him."

First Aid left his place for the moment and scanned the ditch, finding Wheelie, his face destroyed, his naked optics staring up into the sky. The Autobot medic found life still flowed through Wheelie's circuitry.

Roddi remained beside Ultra Magnus while they waited for Skyfire to arrive and transport him home. First Aid did a little emergency welding to keep Magnus' arm from bleeding further. Roddi held his friend's trembling hand, wondering how the Dopps could have attained such technology. They had to have help. And it wouldn't, couldn't be from anywhere on Earth, even if they were assisted by COBRA.

Magnus' optics dimmed on for a moment and he tried to say something: "Two . . . two."

Roddi leaned forward, laying his hand alongside Mag's face plate. "Sshhhh. Later there, Big Guy. Later."

Skyfire arrived, almost dropping right on the blacktop. They kindly loaded Ultra Magnus and carried him off to Fort Max while the others remained to clean up.

The Chapronites were of the most mysterious alien species encountered by any planet. They literally looked like walking stick figures. They produced a cloud of darkness about them that acted as a self-contained environment. Sometimes the cloud changed, reflecting the creature's mood. Chapronites had no heads in the conventional sense. Their tall slender bodies were exceedingly agile. Their voices came in disturbing, hushed tones. Some psychics claim Chapronites held many secrets; 'many darknesses'.

Optimus was very much aware of their 'darknesses'. He felt it as Nok, the Chapronite ambassador, approached with a Scutzoid towing his luggage.

"Welcome, Nok." Prime gave him a Cybertronian greeting.

The tall creature, who stood as tall as Optimus himself, slipped a bracelet round his left hand. He touched what might have been his chest and the bracelet lit up. "Greetings to you. Optimus Prime, Leader of Autobots. Here. We come. Greeting. Just arrived off Centaurus."

"Ahh." Optimus nodded. "And have you met the Ambassador there?"

"Much power that one. Direct."

"Yes." Optimus agreed with a slight smile. He led his guest from the milling crowd and down the third floor. "I understand he was considering a new contract with the Gwadarians."

"Seeking to replace space station. He sends message to you."

"Oh?"

"Not forsake original plans. Stay target."

Prime stared at Nok, almost astounded. He considered abandoning the project on Mars. He felt so burdened with responsibilities that Prime was unsure whether or not to continue overseeing the new fortress-city. Fort Zenith was taking longer than he hoped, but with this advise, Optimus decided not to abandon it after all. It would be costly, but perhaps more costly to do otherwise.

"Other considerations." Nok directed. Optimus attended as they stepped onto an escalator leading to the second floor. "Chapronite DNA not what you think. Not connected to Doppelgangers. Insulted by thoughts and rumors. Displeased by rumors."

At first Prime wasn't sure what he was talking about. Then it dawned on him; the conference room, the DNA pattern found in the Doppelganger's blood. "Ambassador, I'm . . . shocked you know. Who told you about that?"

"Rumors abound."

"No. There was no consideration. We found a DNA strand in his blood that resembled Chapronite DNA, but no other conclusions were reached. I don't know who released that information. But I assure you we are not pointing fingers at anyone at this point."

"Not create rumors? Not considering Chapronite guilt?"

"No, Ambassador. I am sorry you heard it. It was not to leave the conference room."

"Good. Chapronites enjoy here. Earth nice place."

Optimus glanced at the Ambassador and could tell the Ambassador was staring at him. It sent surges down Prime's back.

Thunder billowed across the clear blue sky outside and its vibrations shattered the glass windows on the eastern side. Optimus gazed left and watched as fire licked a plane into a cinder. He cussed inwardly and jumped the rest of the escalator.

No sooner had Nok and his assistant walked off the escalator, than it too blew, sending many people plunging to their deaths.

Another plane blew, a great cloud of fire and smoke rose toward the heavens, sending a burnt offering of Human sacrifice.

A third plane entered the roadway and tried to land. Optimus leapt out and jumped two stories down, dashed across the lot toward the remaining plane.

From a nearby hanger a hideous wail sounded. Part . . . alien? Part alien animal? Optimus could not guess. Something ripped through the north-western wall and a huge truck, at least the size of Skyfire, leapt into the air. It shot a missile and blew the third plane. It landed hard, imprinting the ground and cement with solid steel tires.

Prime stepped back from the hot wind, horrified by both the destruction and the vehicle that caused it. The truck roared, its engine anxious. Optimus took on a fighting stance, waiting for the Doppelgangers to make the first move.

The truck advanced in a frenzy of sound and it shot one rocket after another, blowing one standing plane. Two. Three.

Each time they aimed at Prime, missing entirely. Optimus directed several shots at the alien monstrosity and each time, he raised the power on his laser rifle, finding laser fire did nothing to the vehicles' exterior.

A second truck leapt from another hanger as the hanger exploded behind it, framing the strange vehicle in a cloud of bright fire.

It was enough to distract Optimus and the first truck shot him, slicing into his left arm. He fired into the barrel of its rooftop cannon. The top section of the vehicle blew, the rest of it collided with the third plane's wreckage.

The other truck shot a harpoon. Optimus ducked and fired a wide shot. Something bit him behind the right shoulder and he could feel it burrow its way under his skin. Optimus reached round to pull it out but it slipped into him before he could grab it. Another object bit him behind the left leg and again on the left side of his lower back. Mosquito bites, really.

Rather than allowing it to distract him, Optimus gave it no further thought and aimed a shot at the truck. It roared to its back feet like a demonic stallion. Optimus fired a shot at its underside, getting no better a result than when he fired on its upper chassis. It fired three missiles, two zoomed right past Prime, the third swung back around and Optimus spun, meeting it head-on with his fist. It pop-flew and plunged into a communications link-up tower.

The truck shot another harpoon, this time nailing Prime in the right leg. They sped away, yanking him off balance. Optimus slammed on his back and struggled in vain as they dragged him toward another hanger. Prime managed to aim his weapon at the chain and would have fired had they not zapped him with a pulse of electricity. It fried the inside of his leg and he nearly lost his rifle. He concentrated again, straining to ignore the agonizing pain in his right leg. He aimed for the tailpipe and fired, the but truck swerved left, his aim missing altogether.

A terrorist encased head to toe in armor climbed out the moving vehicle, only her hair proving it was a 'she'. She aimed a shot at his neck. But the truck rammed into a cement divider, causing her to miss her original target. Her aim shot into Prime's chest and she cussed in French. She aimed again but Optimus lifted his rifle before she could pull the trigger and the exo-suit proved no contest.

Optimus shot the harpoon at the source and the truck swerved out of control. Prime rolled three times before lying face down and aimed one shot up the truck's tailpipe. No, he shot three times, each in a different direction but the forth shot sent the vehicle in a blaze of yellows.

Sirens blared from afar and Prime struggled to his feet. Pain shot through his shoulder and leaked down his arm. It was followed by the other 'bites' to his back and leg. It dug its way into his chest and Optimus ordered himself not to feel any pain. He sought his shoulder with his damaged left arm, searching for any exterior attacker, but realized he was being eaten up with acid on the inside.

From the blaze of the last truck, two Dopps in armor stepped calmly out. They produced two very large guns and walked up to the disabled Autobot leader. Optimus noted how they were the exact same height, the same shape, and under their helmets, they had the same eyes. And the two of them aimed their stolen Semi-solar .19s at him.

A battle cry sounded from the sky and Dogfight swept low, zooming right over the Dopp's heads, laughing. He came right back, flipping in a loop-de-loop and blew the two men away.

Quasar landed just before the police arrived. Dogfight proceeded to douse the fires while Quasar checked on their leader. Optimus was bowed over, grasping weakly at his right arm. It melted in several places and he was leaking badly.

"Commander," she whispered. "We're going to get you out of here."

He gazed at her with wide optics, a sense of urgency plastered his face. "No." He weakly objected. "There might be survivors in those planes. The ambassador-there was an explosion in the building-"

The technician shook her head. "There's nothing we can do right now."

Sirens shut off as emergency crews filed out their vehicles, dragging equipment with them. Quasar watched a moment while Dogfight put out the fire that continued to eat what was left of the second hanger. The airport was all but destroyed. EDC crews hauled out two and three survivors at a time. She looked back at Optimus who trembled and vainly tried to pick at his weapon. She stood, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Dogfight," she called. "We have to get him out of here now. He's in shock."

"This fire isn't out yet."

"The emergency crews can handle that. Come on." She turned back to Optimus and proceeded to aid him to his feet.

"I can stand. I'm alright." Optimus insisted.

"No, you can't" she argued. And she slipped under his damaged left arm and guided him in as Dogfight transformed and opened the hatch.

Magnus activated his optics. A dimmed room occupied by life support systems and monitoring devices greeted him. He had no sense the time; he somehow managed to loose track of it.

He sensed someone else in the room and turning just to his left, discovered he was right. Optimus sat in a nearby chair, silently going over a digipad, slowly drinking a tankard of energon.

Prime glanced up from his pad and took another sip of energon. "Hello, old friend." He greeted in quiet, deep tones.

Magnus said nothing at first. He spotted the wrapping lining both of Prime's arms and his right leg. "It seems they picked a fight with you too." He mused.

"Hmm?" Optimus followed Magnus' stare and seemed a bit sheepish for the moment. "Oh. Yes."

"I guess Kup's already given you a lecture about going anywhere by yourself."

"Well, no. Not yet, anyway. Besides, you were going to meet me there. I wouldn't have been alone if they hadn't gotten to you first."

Magnus said nothing, scrutinizing his friend with a more intense gaze. Optimus was hiding something again. He was fidgeting with the digipad now and he tore away his optical contact. But it was futile to try to pry anything from him, that much Magnus knew. There was a time when Optimus talked to him. But that was long ago. That was before 2005, when times were a little less grave. The war was with the Decepticons and things were seemingly more simple.

Optimus stood, albeit slowly, as his right leg could not take much weight yet. He dragged his chair closer to the bedside and turned the digipad face down. Magnus guessed Optimus was here to hide from First Aid. It was amusing in some ways. First Aid swore up and down that Prime was the worst patient. He wouldn't do anything he was told.

"I'm sorry, Old Friend." Optimus' voice came soft, slow.

The apology shocked Magnus into a blank expression. He wasn't looking for this at all. What was wrong? There were times when he'd swear Prime could read his mind. He wouldn't really be surprised if Optimus did. After all, he wasn't the Autobot leader because he was an idiot.

"I haven't been fair to you lately." He looked away, ashamed of himself, of circumstances he felt he created. "Not fair to anyone." He gazed back and the look on his face struck fear in Magnus, an old fear that perhaps this would be the only time he would talk heart-to-heart to an old friend. Perhaps the final time he would see Optimus open and honest. There was a hint of urgency in his friend's voice, in his actions. Optimus trembled, just ever slightly.

"I don't know how to tell you this. I don't know how else to say it. But something's wrong. And it's not something First Aid can fix." He paused, glancing about himself and when he continued, his voice fell to hushed tones, fearful of being heard. "I don't know what's wrong. I don't believe in what's wrong. I know I'm not making any sense. But . . . whatever it is, it's not with me for the moment. You can't do anything." Again he glanced around him, down at the floor and toward the darkest part of the room. "It's . . . its feeding on me. Every day I feel a little more of myself drifting into nothing. I feel nothing, I feel for no one." He glanced about the room again, but not as though searching for someone, more in dread of what he was trying to say. "A veil of darkness is covering me. I don't know how else to say it. I don't know how else to tell you. Except, that I'm sorry." He made optical contact again and Magnus could swear a drop of liquid fell from Prime's right optic. He had never seen anything like it before.

Magnus struggled against the monitoring devices that clung to him. "Let me help." He begged. "I'm your friend. We've been friends for a long time. Why won't you turn to me now?"

"Because I don't want you contaminated. I don't know the source of this . . . thing. I don't know if it will transfer to Rodimus or not and one of us has to keep a clear head. Magnus, if I loose my mind, if I do something unspeakable, swear to me you'll assassinate me!"

"No!" Magnus shot back. "No! We have always been there for each other. Just like right now, you've sat there for hours waiting for me to wake up. And at what expense? No! We have to be there for each other. I am your support."

Prime stood and paced a moment. His breathing came ragged, his limping pace indecisive and fast. Finally he darted to Magnus and bent over so that he spoke only in Magnus' audio. "Are you prepared to descend into darkness? Can you look upon madness and not loose your own mind? Have you ever danced with a devil?"

He withdrew, but Magnus caught his arm and held his hand fast, refusing to just let Prime walk out on him.

"You were sent back to us, Prime." He sternly answered. "By some miracle, some unforeseen event brought you back to us and I'm not letting you go without a fight. I may not have the answer right now. But we need you. If we're about to walk through the fires of the pit, we need you to be with us."

Optimus gave him a final glance and the sorrow that masked him struck Magnus hard. It was the worst thing he had ever seen; despair in its purest form.

Optimus slowly walked toward the door.

"No!" Magnus tried to get up, forgetting that he was injured and had lost a lot of fluids. It prevented him from leaving his flatbed. "Optimus, don't walk out! Let's talk! Prime!"

But the door hissed shut, leaving Magnus alone in the dark. The city commander kept trying to get out of bed. One connector broke and set off an alarm.

First Aid and an assistant rushed into the room and pushed the big guy back on the flatbed. "What under Heaven are you doing?" The Protectobot doctor demanded. "You're too weak to be moving around like this!"

"Optimus." Magnus answered stubbornly. "I have to get to him."

"Nonsense. He's in intensive care, has been all day. No one can see him right now."

"But, he was just in here a minute ago, talking to me."

First aid reattached the monitor device and gave Magnus a laser shot to help him relax. "Prime isn't going anywhere, he hasn't seen anybody. He's been in intensive care all day, just like you. Now lay down."

"But he was talking to me." Magnus rested his weary head, his expression reflecting confusion and disorientation. It was Optimus. He swore to it. He swore to it.

It was really too nice a day to stay inside. Roddi wanted to go out and drive around Fort Max, check into the local races and maybe pester Springer for a while. But duty called him and he resigned himself to pouring through all the assignments and mission logs, security reports, the inventory, all the local airway and road reports-which were supposed to be Magnus' job. There were mileage reports, and tons of other stuff that poured in from the other fortress-cities on a regular basis. There were even reports and mission logs coming in from Cybertron, which was his job after he handled inventory and stock control. Roddi wasn't going to be able to get to it all, even if he had a month to go through it. How Optimus ever did any of it alone was incredible. But then, Optimus only had his group to care for, not seven Autobot cities, plus a moonbase and a space platform, and EDC's reports on top of that. Ever since Rodimus came 'back to life' as it were, the exhaustive load that was split between Prime and Magnus was split up again with him. But at least, like Op often said, neither of them were doing it all alone.

But then, Optimus also said on occasion how he enjoyed the freedom of the battlefield far more than the chains of diplomacy lying around his desk. Digipads piled everywhere on Roddi's desk and there were three more stacks of them waiting on the floor. He had worked so long and concentrated so hard that he had forgotten the music he was listening to had ended, leaving him in a sea of silence.

Someone knocked at Roddi's office door. And the Autobot leader found himself surprised to even hear any sound at all. He stared at the door before remembering he was supposed to answer. "Enter." He greeted.

Rodimus expectantly stared up. Then he looked down. A woman stood in a business suit, holding a black portfolio in one hand, her purse in the other.

"Hi." She greeted. "I'm Lace Ordaz. Rusti's case worker?"

Rodimus stared at her blankly. "Uhhm . . . okay. Uhm . . . okay. What's . . . no one's said anything about you."

"Prime didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"He hired me . . ." She stopped and smiled. "Well, let me get right to the point. There's been an incident . . . with Rusti? I just received a report from Antelope Medical Clinic. And I think you should like to know what's going on."

And right then Rodimus realized exactly what Optimus meant by 'that sinking feeling'.

Several days passed as Prime and Magnus slowly recuperated. The death toll continued to escalate in Central City. Another hit-and-run raid with hospital records had authorities yanking out their hair. They scoured everything, searching for prints, hair, weapons, clothing, cigarette butts; anything to indicate mistakes made by the perpetrators. But nothing offered any leads.

And three days later, twenty-nine more people disappeared.

Distraught, the mayor was finally forced to call a city staff meeting and declare marshal law. The meeting was very ugly. All the city officials, both Autobot leaders and the chief of staff of the National Guard and EDC officials really couldn't agree on more than one thing; that the city would have to be suppressed in order to bring the culprits to justice.

"Whaddoi look like here?" Mayor Sprintlin shouted above the clamor. "Am I supposed to be a god 'r something? Eh? You guys figure out a better way and I'll just sign my name on it." He thumped down in his chair.

"That's not acceptable." Diane Stokes of the local newspaper media declared. "You're going to prohibit the freedom of the population because someone is trying to disrupt daily life?"

"I'm with Frank on this one." Tolomsky popped a sunflower seed in his mouth. Most of those who heard him glared. "No, I'm serious." He insisted. He stepped to an erase-a-board that contained the map of Central City and set his palm in the center. "Folks?" He waited for them to attain some civility. "Folks?"

Someone whistled loudly enough to get their attention.

"Thanks, Don." Tolomsky nodded. "Look, we've got eight places completely closed down, now under clean up and reconstruction. Even the Autobots can't keep up with all the madness. And believe me, people, they've been right there from the beginning. Something's gotta break here. Cause we're at our limits. I don't have any fresher patrols than what's out there already. I don't have any emergency resources. I've even thought about calling Seattle and asking them to sneak us some of their boys via airplane. They've attacked our airport and crippled the comm tower there. They've attacked our railroads. Is anyone here aware that the train bridge between Gapper's Peak and Fort Max was blown the same time Ultra Magnus was attacked? How's this look, people? Hu? Look, instead of chewing up and spitting each other out, we should pull together. No more pointing fingers and accusations. We all want the same thing. I wanna go to bed tomorrow night and sleep a full eight hours without tossing and turning in worry; is my family next? K?" He glanced at Optimus. "Prime, I think you said you wanted to say something?"

"Yes, Chief Tolomsky. Thank you. Last week we hired another telepath. We're prepared to hire more and get them in here if necessary and station them throughout the city."

Optimus paused and he and Roddi glanced all around the room, checking reactions. Rodimus bowed his head slightly. _Seems they're taking it well enough._

_You think it's safe to go on?_

_Shoot._

Optimus continued. "So far we have been successful in recovering other bodies. The next step will have to include all your departments."

Diane stood and held a hand in the air. "Wait a minute." She announced. "You mean each of us will have to employ a psychic?"

"No." Rodimus interjected. "But we are recommending dog teams."

Suddenly the whole groups' manner shifted into a more relaxed mode. Diane sat back down and wrapped her hands about her cup of coffee. Optimus inwardly sighed and felt a tug of sadness. He needed to see Rusti. He needed to know if she was okay. "Here's what we suggest:" he continued, "There will be four patrol shifts consisting of dogs, military, police and a few telepaths. There will be overlapping in all areas."

Rodimus shifted from his position on the floor. "What we're trying to do is look for the ordinary that's not so ordinary. We figure that's how they're operating so well. They look like everyone else. So far we have been able to determine the Dopps operate as twins. We don't know how it works yet, nor can we distinguish between them. We're still just going to keep an optic out for things that's not quite so common."

"Shape shifting?" Aaron of Utilities Commission asked.

"Not quite." Rodimus answered. "Something more like leather jackets in summer temperatures." He received several nods. People were beginning to understand.

Optimus picked it up from there. "We also recommend more security around the schools. As you all know, there's been several children disappearing over the last few days. This is a very critical and dangerous time. We have limited resources and no way of telling when the Doppelgangers will attack next."

Tolomsky leaned back in his chair, snapping the edge of an envelope on the table, guided his hand down its surface then swung it up and trailed his hand to the bottom again, repeating the process. "What we'll do is plan out what patrols go where and we'll start handing out assignments as early as tomorrow. I know you're all tired and scared, but people, let's keep our edges keen. Cause from here forward, its war."

Sideswipe and Streetwise quietly flowed with the rest of traffic down Circumference Avenue. The three o'clock rush jammed traffic for three miles in every direction. Ever since the bombings, roadways were blocked and detoured, pressing the traffic in more constrained areas.

Streetwise impatiently waited for a light to change. He scanned the area around him, noting three cars with expired registration stickers and sixteen pedestrians waiting on the corner to cross. The pedestrians were given way first and one impatient driver revved his engine.

"Hmph." Sideswipe accidentally snorted over their internal comline.

"Whatsat?" Streetwise asked automatically.

"Hu? Aw, nothing. Just noticed a set a' twins on the crosswalk."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just that I saw a set of twins."

"Where?" Streets instantly demanded. He scanned the area. "Where?" He kept searching the sidewalks parallel to their position then he scanned those crossing the street and spotted them. "Oh, Primus!" And without thinking, Streets transformed and leapt for the humans.

"Streets!" Sideswipe called after. "You're not supposed to do that!" But he transformed and did the very same thing. Mid-traffic transformations were not good protocol, but Autobots, whose very nature it was to just switch modes, found it hard to remember. And as excited as Streetwise was, the whole Earth could condemn him to the Pit if he could just get his hands on one or both the twins. His friend leapt after him in traffic, frightening drivers, upsetting others so that they honked or shouted profanity.

The twins spotted the Protectobot hot on their heels and the two split up, each heading in opposite directions.

"Primus!" Streets cried out. "NO! Sides, grab one of them! We can't let them get away! They know where Groove is!" He chased one down the sidewalk and in a back ally. The guy could sure run!

And then, he disappeared-just like that.

Streetwise choked back a cry of dismay. But he could still hear the guy dashing away from him. He tried to switch scanners to pick up body heat and made another run for it. But it was impossible-how was this Human able to outrun him? And then the guy disappeared altogether? It sharply reminded the Protectobot detective of the incident at the soccer game a few weeks ago-the binoculars that just floated in the air. And then they too disappeared. How were they able to do that?

"Streets!" Sideswipe called behind him. He grabbed Streetwise by the arm to get his attention.

"No!" Streetwise cried out. "Let me go! I gotta go after him! He knows where Groove is! I gotta get to him!'

"There's nobody there!" Sideswipe shouted. He waited until despair covered the Protectobot's features and defeat forced him to calm down.

"They got Groove." Streetwise moaned.

"I know." Sideswipe answered evenly. "But reacting like a madman isn't going to help him. You need to think, to concentrate on getting these guys. Now stand up, soldier! Use your processor!"

Ultra Magnus' words hit him and Streetwise stood straight and cleared his mind. Fear and worry for his brother had clouded his judgment, obviously. But Sideswipe was right, he needed to concentrate on the task at hand. "I'm sorry, Sides." He finally mumbled.

"Forget it. Here. Tell me what this is." Sideswipe gave Streets a small plastic bag with something in it.

"What's this?" The Protectobot asked.

"A present the guy I was chasing dropped. I didn't look in it, thinking you might want dibs on the first peek. Wanna tell me what it is?"

Streets examined it carefully. 'It's a plastic Kmart shopping bag."

"Yeah." Sideswipe answered sarcastically. "I can't read, I guess. What's in it?"

Streetwise carefully unfolded the bag and found a small black object the size of a cellphone. At first Streets thought it was a cellphone. Then his olfactory told him of fresh popcorn remains in the bag itself. The cellphone had a countdown sequence of approximately ten minutes. "Oh gawd. It's a detonator!" He gasped.

"Where? Kmart?" Sideswipe guessed.

"Where else? Come on!"

It took them five blocks before they could weave their way through traffic into a right turn. Once there, Streetwise rounded Sideswipe and dipped into a shopping center down the hill. He transformed in front of the Kmart store and started to encircle the building searching for obvious clues on the outside. Sideswipe smiled at a few pedestrians while Streets finished his outside scan. Then he picked up a gleep broadcasting over his comline. He crossed the garden center twice. "It's here!" He called.

Sideswipe joined him a minute later and shook his head as his impetuous companion withdrew his right hand and produced a pair of wire cutters and split the chain link fence. Shoppers withdrew as the two Autobots carefully picked their way around plants and gardening equipment.

An employee pointed toward them for his boss who stomped right for them. "Hey!" Her round little mouth shouted. "You can't do that here! Take your inquisitive little selves and-"

"Sorry." Sideswipe cut the squat little rat-like female short. "We think there's a bomb here."

Streetwise shot him a dirty look. That was way out of protocol but Sideswipe rarely paid attention to tact. Always the blunt sort; Sideswipe just told it like it was and that was it. Well, after all, he was a warrior, a good one, but he was no make for diplomacy-unless it was shotgun diplomacy, that is.

The Kmart manager's jaw dropped past her collarbone and Streetwise shrugged. "Sorry. But he is telling you the truth."

"Gawd!" She dashed off and started shoeing people out the whole backside of the store then called other department managers and ordered them to quietly ask people to leave their things and exit the store.

Streetwise and Sideswipe kept searching around the area, not seeing anything. Streets began to wonder if he hadn't made a mistake.

After another eight moments, he turned back to Sideswipe, and shook his head. "Maybe I made a mistake." He said softly.

Sideswipe gave him a small smile. "Nobody's perfect." He answered sympathetically. But it didn't seem to help Streets' confidence. They passed a bird bath on their way out and Streets suddenly stopped and peered at the concrete decoration. He closely examined it, picked it up and saw nothing. Then he glanced once at Sideswipe and picked up the whole table of plants and tossed it aside and pulled up a loose slab of concrete and sure enough, there was a rather large, but flat bomb-with a force field protecting it.

The Autobot squatted down before his new toy. Sideswipe stepped away and contacted head Quarters, informing Ultra Magnus of the condition. In another fifteen minutes, Blades whirled overhead while people poured out the building and ran for their cars. Streetwise concentrated on the intricate designs of the bomb. It wasn't anything like the others which were simple black boxes with scanners. No, this one was set to trigger the moment the force field was disrupted.

Hot Spot bent over to avoid the net overhang in the garden center and silently knelt on the other side of the bomb while Streetwise continued to study it. He waited anxiously, struggling to remain silent.

"Groove is so much better at this kind of thing than I am." Streets moaned.

"Just do the best you can, Streetwise." Hotspot answered softly.

Streets did what he could to read what he was looking at. He turned it over and over very carefully, hoping he could undo the detonation in less than six minutes. He carefully scanned it, hoping his action would not trigger anything overly-sensitive. Then finally he got a reading. "This has a double back-up system." Streetwise finally assessed.

"How's that?"

"Well, two force fields, each going in two different directions. There's two off-set devices and two timers."

Streetwise finally gazed up at the Protectobot leader and looked a bit grim. "This is almost not even the work of our little troublemakers. Seems someone else planted it. But, the style is in direct keeping with the others. It's just a different type."

"Can you disarm it?"

Streetwise studied it a little more as bomb squad teams, emergency crews and the local fire department arrived. Police and National Guard also arrived and blocked off the entire shopping center, insuring all citizens had evacuated the area. Streetwise suddenly gasped. "Hot Spot!" He cried, "I just realized something! If there's two of everything in this bomb, there has to be a second bomb here somewhere else!" He watched Hot Spot's optics glowed brightly and the Protectobot leader jumped to his feet and leapt right over Sideswipe and dashed to inform the bomb squad. They went right into action, entire groups of police and their dogs, the National guard and fire department all running into other buildings, tearing the places apart.

Meanwhile Streetwise pulled his mirrors out of subspace and ever so carefully inserted them into the force field beams at the same time.

Nothing happened. He nodded to himself. "Hey, I really need someone here. It's gonna take two people to disarm these things." He announced.

In a moment, Tolomsky and one of his 'geeky' kids arrived and Tolomsky watched while Sideswipe directed the kid to hold the mirrors while he and Streetwise started slicing wiring from the timers. They had to snip two wires at a time then unscrew the top layer of the bomb two screws at the same time. In so doing, they knocked the force field safely off line and bomb expert Delbert Burrell withdrew with a deep sigh of relief.

"You know," Sideswipe finally piped after a long moment. "We probably should have asked some of those evacuees if they saw anything odd or not."

"How do you mean?" Tolomsky popped a sunflower seed in his mouth and checked his watch, his blood pressure slowly rising.

"Well, it's just that, I think these bombs were just planted within the hour. Streets and me were just driving down the street when I spotted a set of twins and we gave chase. One of them was carrying a Kmart bag."

Tolomsky nodded and made a mental note of it.

Streetwise suddenly paused in his work and sat up on his elbows. "Come to think of it, I'm wondering how these twins exist at all. I mean, how are we seeing so many of them?"

He turned to Tolomsky who shrugged. "Don't look at me. I dunno the chances of seeing more than one set a' twins, myself. How would that have anything to do with the bombs?"

"I dunno." Streets confessed. "Just a thought, I guess." And he snipped a pair of blue wires entwined with a pair of white wires at the same time.

The bomb made a small click and a small hiss of smoke trailed up. Streets, Delbert and Tolomsky waited for the big boom, but nothing happened. Streetwise plucked up the slim bomb casing and sat back on his haunches. "I'd like to keep this, Chief, if it's alright with you. I think . . . I think Groove would like to have it."

"Hey, I personally don't like ta' keep stuff like that in the office. If you're right and the boys find the other, you're just about welcome to it!" Something screamed in Tolomsky's communicator and he pulled it out of his jacket. "Hey!" He admonished. "Let's be professional, here, people." He stepped over upturned plants and out the garden center. "Ah, hu. Okay, hold on." He turned back to Streets. "They found your other toy, jus' like you said." He dipped back into the cellphone. "You gotta do everything in two's there, Larry. Yeah. Yeah. Hey, you got everything under control here. I'm going back for some aspirin. I gotta look into something else here. Okay. Yeah." And he kept grunting as he walked toward his car.

Sideswipe sat on the ground, turning the bomb over and over in his hands. Something was definitely amiss here. Really, the way he found the bomb didn't make sense. It was well hidden, but it had a very remarkable signal. Almost . . . as if . . . it was supposed . . . to be found.

And at that very moment, across town, two local gas stations blew up in a fountain fire.

Five days, sixteen hours, thirty-three minutes and seventeen seconds and counting. That's how long it's been since the last bomb struck Central City. Optimus sat atop Central Command just to get away from his office and steal a few precious moments to himself. He felt guilty neglecting his garden again. More plants died by the day, but he wouldn't appoint anyone to attend them. He just sat there, legs dangling over the edge of the rooftop and stared aimlessly over the city's second level. Slingshot and Skydive came in from patrol just as Scattershot and Blades took off on theirs. Ambassador T'thupav's shuttle landed shortly thereafter.

Optimus wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody. He had said nothing of the terrible premonitions he had suffered in the past few days. He fought despondency constantly. He missed Rusti terribly. Yet, he tried to respect the wishes of her parents. Optimus did not want to endanger his own relationship with the Witwickys. But they seemed determined to remain as far apart from the life at Fort Max as possible. So, Prime thought about checking on Rusti from a more subtle standpoint. He requested Douglas County to investigate, but that was over two weeks ago and he heard nothing since.

These things take time, he understood that. But he had a feeling time was the issue; they were quickly running out of it.

His fingers traced the contours of the digipad in his hands. He missed her!

No, don't admit it! Don't even think it!

And for damn sure, don't say anything to anybody! How many times had he let his guard down only to lose the object of his love later? He wasn't going to go through that again, never again.

And that was why Rusti was better off where she was. Or so he forced himself to believe. If she came here, if he made room for her here in his life, he'd lose her for sure and it was something he couldn't handle.

No more deaths.

On the other hand, the silence was killing him. Today alone he jumped from his desk three times, thinking he heard her little voice down the hall only to find either a pair of femmes quietly talking or worse yet, no one there at all. It was maddening, as though someone he loved had died, and his subconscious hadn't accepted the reality yet.

Prime sighed and tried to tear away from those thoughts. There were other things to think about; like the two other emergency rooms and a hospital clinic robbed of their records day before yesterday? The death rate now hit three hundred and six.

He sighed and tossed the digipad back on the floor. It clanked against four other pads. But he couldn't concentrate. What he needed was a good recharge.

Or at least, that's what he assumed.

A familiar pattern of feet entered his audios but Optimus did not turn to acknowledge Roddi as he approached.

Rodimus took a place beside Prime and stared at him for a brief moment. He glanced at the sunset, noting in passing the pink hues of the lower clouds. It wasn't a spectacular sunset and Roddi figured Optimus wasn't really up here to stare at it, either.

"Microchip for your thoughts." He asked softly.

No answer.

He held his thumb to his mouth as though it were a microphone: "Cybertron to Optimus Prime, we are having technical difficulties in communications, could you repeat that last phrase?"

Nothing.

He tried once more: "Earth to Optimus Prime, come in, please."

Nothing. Just a dead stare into infinity. Rodimus smiled apologetically for his teasing and fell quiet. Other than emergency crews working round the clock to protect the city and the fire department's desperate endeavor to put out the gas station fires, it had been a quiet week. Rodimus, like Prime, waited for the worst to strike. Tolomsky kept them informed right to the second, calling them two, sometimes three times a day to let them know how things were. But the city still sat in dead silence. It was actually kinda scary. An air of uneasiness stretched everyone's nerves. The police, the military, the added agencies and psychics and dog teams; they were all poised for something big to happen.

And what were they doing right now? Sitting atop a building looking at a not-so extraordinary sunset.

"Calm before the storm." Roddi muttered.

"Calm before the storm." Optimus echoed softly.

And the two fell silent. Rodimus learned sometimes if he just sat there patiently enough, Optimus would open up to him.

Sometimes.

"Roddi, how do you feel about custody?" Prime didn't know why he asked. He should not have brought the subject up, but there it was and he could not go back.

Rodimus flinched with the suddenness of Prime's question. He smiled lightly. "Sorry, Op, you're already adopted. We're stuck with you."

"I mean Rusti."

Rodimus almost wanted to hit Prime upside the head. Not one of his jokes creased Prime's emotionless face. Then Prime's statement sunk in. "Oh. Well . . . who'd you assign to take care of her?"

"We'll both chip in."

Rodimus flinched. "You?"

Now Optimus stared at him. Keep your feelings out of it, he told himself. "She's Spike's granddaughter, Roddi." He rationalized. "That makes her a priority. Spike . . ." Prime looked away again. ". . . did a great deal for us as a people and a species. We owe him something for it." He gazed back at Roddi, almost pleased with himself for the brilliant form of excuse. "And Rusti's in trouble." He didn't know whether or not to tell Rodimus he had already requested the investigation. He supposed if he didn't say anything now, Rodimus would find out later and blow his top that Prime didn't trust him enough to let him in on the plot. Optimus actually felt a little ashamed. He was doing this as much for himself as he was for Rusti.

How very selfish of him! Especially when he knew how much her family wanted her home! But . . . something else rationalized, she loves it here and wants to stay.

Rodimus stared hard at Optimus for a long silent moment. He closely examined Prime's face, searching. He settled down and looked very perplexed. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Optimus fingered the digipads on the floor beside him. He seemed to very much want to say something more, but could not. Dammit, He was such a tightwad! Rodimus thought.

Rodimus sighed resignedly. "Well, since you said we'd both chip in, how so? And where do we start?"

"I'm going to file for custody tomorrow morning, basing our request on her health. I'll have Dr. Hanson make a report based on her research regarding Rusti's depression and I'll ask Captain Fairborn to ask for certified letters regarding Rusti's behavior in school. It's not much, but it should be a good start."

Rodimus nodded. "I'll see if we can't get our hands on those other reports from the emergency room she was sent to two weeks ago."

Optimus shot him a surprised look. It was news he was not aware of. He paused, unable to decide what to say, how to react. But finally he did neither, merely casting his sad optics westwardly where Skylynx now landed on the space port, bearing precious supplies for the Twin Cities.

Then again Optimus threw Roddi an 'I-know-I-should-tell-you-but-I-can't look. Roddi threw him a knowing smile. He'd just kick Prime's afterburners later.

The city fell to an even more eerie silence, more disturbing than the silence of an oncoming icestorm. The news reporters ran a 24-hour vigil on the city. The police departments rushed to get all the paperwork they could finish before the next wave of disasters occurred.

One day.

Two.

Three.

Optimus counted them like the vibrations of his own laser core. What agony! The cities sat on the edge of a razor, waiting for the deadly stroke.

And Wednesday came.

At exactly 10:05 A.M. Blaster announced the sudden movement of an alien-design convoy of trucks heading right down Dionysus Ave.

"That's it!" Optimus declared in Fort Max's control room. He swept his rifle off the table when Rodimus grasped him by the arm.

"No!" He objected. "I'll go. And I'll take Sideswipe and Skyfire with me."

"Rodimus-" Prime cut in,

"No," Roddi objected. "You and Mags suffered enough damage. Besides, someone needs to be here just in case Rusti calls and needs help."

Optimus stepped back, out of Roddi's grasp. That was a devious argument. But a valid one. If something were to happen, both Autobot leaders knew Rusti would make a beeline straight to Fort Max, straight for Home. Prime slowly nodded. "I'll be here." He answered softly.

"I know." Roddi whispered.

He transformed and raced away.

* * *

The gymnasium went first. An alien vehicle plowed through it as though the brick building were made of straw. Children and their teachers fled from the building as the floor scrunched up like an accordion. One teacher fell and was caught in the wake of the great tank-like vehicle. The Dopps paid no mind as they crushed the poor man under. 

And then the killing began. The tank fired two and three missiles into the wings, obliterating entire classrooms at a crack. The science wing went first, a terrible fire erupted while down the main hallway, three huge bikes plugged the entrance and exitways. Those Dopps bore the skeleton armor and carried huge alien-design guns, ripe for the overkill of their helpless victims.

The theater caught afire and the smoke billowed out in every direction. Children and teachers raced out the buildings like ants whose tree home blazed with deadly flames. Then the terrorists started shooting indiscriminately at the fleeing survivors, forcing others to race right back into the fire.

Two Dopps met their maker when Blades landed first. He shot down two and three at a time. He was surprised to see so many of them! Then he shot new holes into the building walls, allowing the prisoners to climb their way to freedom.

And once again, EDC, city police and the National Guard came racing to the scene. At first, the military and armored EDC officers managed to push the Dopps into a fight with them rather than attacking the children.

But not more than three minutes passed when another truck arrived, a tank, really, and it plowed right across the football field, over the basketball court and into the parking lot, blowing three vehicles left and right with a photon-pulse cannon. Streets and Sideswipe attacked it while Rodimus arrived and fired at three new biker groups as they came on the scene. One of them fired an acid rocket and having seen what one of those things did to Optimus, Roddi knew to duck and fire at the same time.

It did him no good. One biker shot him anyway, nailing him in the leg. He started shooting right back at them, finding his efforts proved futile; the bikers were using a force field to protect them from random fire.

One biker set up a bazooka and fired it straight into the front office, leaving a gaping hole in the side. Four people raced toward their freedom, only to get shot down by two other bikers. The bazooka biker turned to Roddi and fired, missing once. Rodimus raised the power on his weapon and fired, at least to knock the jerk off his bike. But two other bikers replaced him. One fired at the busses lining the other side of the lot, the other aimed at Rodimus, shooting two and three times until he nailed Roddi in the shoulder.

The tank shot at everything. EDC, Central City police, the military, the Autobots, even some of their own gang members got a taste of the tank's pulse cannon.

Sideswipe slammed into the tank's side, attempting to push it away from the fleeing crowd. The tank, so much larger than the red and black Autobot, merely swung its turret round about and aimed a shot, missing its agile opponent. Sideswipe back-flipped, transformed and revved his engine so that his wheels smoked, burning rubber. And the tank lumbered round, aiming to crush him. Sides screeched away, the tank rolled leisurely after, crushing vehicles and bodies alike in its wake. Sides zoomed across the parking lot and around the school yard, leading the tank away from the scene.

People and children flew in every which direction. Some were shot down right where they ran, their bodies trampled by those still trying to escape the madness. Vehicles roared as loudly as explosions and guns fired. Blades sought two Dopps who hid from him a moment ago. They had just downed six children and were busy planting a bomb alongside the cafeteria. He spotted one dashing out in the middle of the courtyard and nailed him.

But something bit his lower leg and he glanced down, wondering what it was that he might have stepped on. Something else shot at him, a little pin prick, really, but it agitated him enough. He glanced round about to take a look at that one when something else shot into his right lower arm and he tried to pry it out when it blew, taking his fingers with him.

Blades let out a yell of pure irritation and fired at everything that moved. But he was unsuccessful and five and six more acid bombs punched his arms and legs until he fell in agony, wondering why the idiot Humans played with him like a pack of rats round an injured cat.

He saw Springer leap from nowhere as he passed out. The Wrecker fired five and six times at the little annoying pests, splattering one against the cafeteria wall. Another ran right for him and Springer merely kicked him, sending the armored terrorist crashing through what remained of the cafeteria glass windows.

The second tank clamored its way over the second wing and fired inside one of the classrooms. A beautiful sparkling blaze shot up. It twisted in the breeze and spread over the rooftop. Rodimus pointed to it, staring at Hotspot. "Spots!" He called, "Plasma fire!"

"Gotcha!"

The tank turned and aimed at a line of EDC fighters who were currently engaged in a cross-fire with a line of biker Dopps. Roddi swung with his rifle and aimed up the tank's cannon barrel.

To his horror, the damn thing had a force field of its own! It advanced, crushing bodies and rubble without pretense or respect.

Skyfire landed hard beside Rodimus and the two stared at the invulnerable machine.

"That thing's going to obliterate everything!" Skyfire gasped.

Rodimus narrowed his optics. "And we don't have any weapons that will stop it, either." He continued to watch it a moment longer while it plowed through the parking lot, chasing people, from both sides of the war. "You know," Roddi called, "We can't use any weapons, but we can use our heads."

"How so?"

"Ever play 'King of the Hill?' come on!"

The two Autobots leapt for the alien monstrosity and Rodimus plowed into it, attempting to knock it over on its side.

"Ahh!" Skyfire grinned. "Now I get what you mean. Push it over on its back like a turtle." And the two of them slammed into its side time and again until the mid section of the turret swung around and showered Roddi and Skyfire with acid. Rodimus growled, determined more than ever to put a stop to the mass murders. He could feel his metal skin melt under the acid's terrible heat. It smoldered, filling his olfactory with the stench of disintegrating alloys. Pain ate into him and he winced, weakening under its power. He had already lost a great deal of fluids and power from the wound in his right shoulder. But they kept pushing until the tank tipped up on its right wheels. It skid along the ground, grasping for a foothold and finally, the two Autobots shoved it over the edge.

Springer leapt from the sky, a live wire cable in his hand. "How about a cherry on top of that cupcake?" he cracked. And he zapped the tank, force field and all. The tank turned bright white, affected by the overloading electricity. Then it faded into a crisp black like an overcooked grasshopper.

Dopps on bikes strapped mini cannons to their backs and shoulders. They fired at the Autobots, EDC officers and what remained of the police and military. The Guard began a slow encirclement, lining right behind the EDC warriors who subtly exchanged positions with Central City police so that there stood a wide circle of 'good guys' around the Dopps. With one tank down, the other missing, only the bikers and 'foot soldiers' remained.

But that was enough. The bikers charged their mini cannons and fired them in every direction, heedless of the laser and gun fire that went off in their direction. Anything that had substance was pummeled by either rockets, bullets or lasers.

Three, four, six, ten soldiers died in the cross fire.

Eleven, fifteen, twenty-three; nothing was getting through the biker's force field.

Rodimus tried six different laser frequencies on his weapon until he was shot through the right leg. He cried out, exhaustion finally getting the best of him.

"Keep at it!" Roddi ordered, his voice betraying the anguish that consumed his body. He knew they had to run out of ammo eventually and then all they'd have left was their force field. That would be easily contained, if all they needed was a good net. Roddi wanted them spared for questioning.

Streets landed beside Rodimus as the Autobot leader faded, already fallen to his knees. The acid ate down to his muscle cables and it was all Rodimus could do to remain conscious. Streets finally pulled out his laser flare and shot a burst of white light, blinding not only the bikers that saw it, but several of their Human allies.

"Yeah!" Hotspot rejoiced. He managed to put out the plasma fire and it looked like the whole thing was all but a wrap.

But the tank Sideswipe managed to veer away, rammed right through the apartment buildings from across the street, spitting another laser blast into the remains of the school. Skyfire shot at it, but the tank blazed a trail, cutting down several EDC officers and crushing Skyfire into the new fire. It suddenly turned and fired at Roddi, slamming him square in the left side.

In turn, it blew Hotspot's left arm and leg. Springer leapt atop the vehicle, lifting the gun turret, forcing it to aim at the other bikers. The cannon blared, its pulse laser blinded the area with its power and obliterated five of the encircled bikers.

Then from what was left of the front office hallway, a huge white shape ripped through the rooftop. It raised a terrible brilliant dragon-like head and shrieked at those Dopps still living. The very sound of the shriek was enough to knock some Humans right off their feet, grasping at their damaged ears. It spat a blaze of plasma energy at them, intentionally missing Springer entirely. The power of the creature of pure light melted the terrorists, armor, vehicles, flesh and all. Even the blacktop under them was not unaffected. It cooked under the supernatural power, the tar melting into a fine glaze, melting and mixing with those who died on top. And then the creature of light slipped back from where it came.

Roddi lay on the ground, now gasping to keep power flowing through him. Pain forced him to remain as still as possible, many of his own components lay naked in the cold Oregon sun, his body slowly eaten away by the acid. He knew what he had just seen, but for the life of him, could not think it possible. A touch by Primus Himself. The Matrix saved them but what in Primus' name called forth that power?

The world turned dark and silent before he could think of an answer.


	9. Chapter 9

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 9

They carried Rodimus on a stretcher, securing him kindly into Skyfire. Hotspot and Blades were towed away not long after that while Magnus, Perceptor and Streetwise laboriously aided in the clean-up and investigation.

Many children and most adults lay dead. Several others were missing, their peers, those who survived, suffered from shock.

The entire school stood as not much more than an unstable house of cards, ready to fold. Several Dopps lay dead, their own bodies lay in negligence. Those whose job was to tag and haul away the dead, felt the children and teachers came first.

The creepiest scene on site were the shadow-images of people burned right into the walls down the main hallway. Oddly enough, EDC scientists and forensic specialists from Central City were able to collect DNA from those shadow-images. Magnus kept staring at them and came to one private conclusion; something supernatural had occurred.

"Ultra Magnus?" An EDC officer called. She waited for the giant robot to attend and displayed a hypodermic needle for his examination.

"What is it?"

"From the color, I'd say it was 'joys'.

Magnus magnified the image through his own optics and found a light purple color staining the plastic interior of the device. "Good work, Lieutenant. This may be something we need."

"Yeah, well, if it was a forced injection, I'd hate to be the victim of that hypo. The hypo was full."

"Ultra Magnus!" Perceptor cried excitedly.

Magnus stood and carefully picked his way across the hall while police, military and emergency crews marked and carried the dead away. He approached Perceptor who crouched before one such 'shadow' mark lying half on the floor, half against the wall. He stared at it, unsure what to think.

"This. . ." the scientist ran a finger down the black powder area, ". . . was highly intentional. Whatever had the power to do this, aimed only at the adults. Not one of these belongs to a child."

"What is it, exactly?"

"Human remains, Ultra Magnus. The very basic remains of the Human body when all the water and calcium have been evaporated and slightly burned."

Magnus looked somewhat disgusted. He glanced around the rest of the hallway, his optics darted from one shadow mark to another, inadvertently counting a total of fourteen shadows.

"If I may," Perceptor piped again, "I've done a spectrographical analysis and it shows this may have been done by gamma wave particles."

"Gamma wave radiation?"

"Not radiation, Ultra Magnus, Gamma wave life force."

"I don't understand."

"All living things exist on and produce a type of life force aura, explained in the wavelengths of consciousness. Most sentient creatures exist on four planes of consciousness: Delta, Alpha, Gamma, and Theta-Alpha. This is strictly Gamma. How, I don't really know."

"It's a miracle, that's what it is." Ashlyn joined them, drawing her trench coat closely about her.

"What do you mean?" Magnus sighed, still very tired.

"Whatever it was that stopped the Doppelganger's attack went for them directly. There was a battle here, but it was Alien Force: Fourteen, Dopps: Zippo. It knew exactly what it was doing." she turned then glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, and I think you'll find the DNA in the shadows matches the DNA used by the Dopps."

Magnus stared at her a long moment longer. He recalled survivors outside the school, those EDC, police and military officers during the battle had said something weird had happened, a light . . .

Prime listened to Magnus' first hand account in his office. He leaned back in his chair, optics off, arms crossed, rocking slightly. The tale was disturbing enough without the bizarre circumstances surrounding its resolution.

"We've managed to account for most of the children's bodies, here, Prime." Magnus reported. "But . . . there seems to be something like forty-two missing."

"Forty-two children unaccounted for?" Prime echoed.

"Rusti is one of them. We've been all over the school, identified all the bodies. A Mr. Tumnus, a science teacher assured us she was there."

Optimus seemed unmoved. "Good work. Keep me posted."

They kept Rodimus in repair bay for six hours. First Aid forbade anyone to enter the room other than his staff as he rushed to save Roddi's life.

Optimus waited.

Ultra Magnus' team had not yet returned from the school. Magnus sent Prime updates every thirty minutes but nothing, absolutely no sign of Rusti. Prime tried not to think of the worst, but his worry finally forced him to forsake his paperwork. He merely sat against the wall, opposite the repair bay and waited. He had slowly drifted to shut down, stirring now and again when some kind of noise would slip past those solid doors. Fear gripped him in a solid icy embrace. He had no idea what he would do if Rodimus died.

He crossed his legs and set his elbows on them, bowing his head between his hands. Secretly he prayed no one else would come down the hallway and find him in such a state. He felt so vulnerable right now.

Much later, the sun shed light into the hall, gently rousing Optimus out of a semi-shut down mode. Optimus welcomed the sun, hoping the situation would begin to turn around. He cast his optics five stories down and watched while people in the R & D complex rushed back and forth, to and from work. They went about their lives, in spite of the emergency situation. They seemed to have such simple lives, Prime thought to himself. They all lived and worked under his care, under his protection. He wondered if any of them knew how he sometimes longed to feel that care, that protection, himself.

"Commander?" First Aid's voice filled the silence of the hallway and Prime was glad he was standing, not sitting and moping. "Roddi can talk, but only for a few minutes."

Relief flooded Optimus' whole self and he passed the Autobot doctor without so much as a glance. He stepped to the flatbed and stared down at his friend. "Rodimus." His voice came in a very shallow whisper.

Roddi's optics dimmed on and a wry smile weakly pressed over his face. They had wrapped him in a special polymers alloy that would graft to his own body, effectively creating a new exostructure. In turn, that would be reinforced with two more layers of other metals. It's a long painful process. But Roddi's exostructure had been contaminated by acid, rather than punctured by conventional laser fire. "Hey," he softly, weakly greeted. "I see they're giving me a new set of clothes, eh?" he shook his head. "Won't wonders ever cease?"

Prime stared at him silently for a long moment and fought off the desire to embrace his injured friend. Rodimus didn't need any words, though. He knew that look of despair. He weakly stroked Prime's arm. "We'll make it." He whispered.

"Rusti's missing." he bluntly stated.

Rodimus now understood the extent of Optimus' grief. The Senior Prime not only feared for Rodimus' own condition, but Rusti . . . He took Prime's hand and weakly squeezed it.

* * *

Mayor Sprintlin stood behind a ring of mics. Light flashed from every corner of the room as TV, newspaper, internet and radio reporters scribbled notes, readied their recorders and waited for him to say something. 

"At approximately eleven-fifteen this morning, the Antelope Elementary school was attacked by terrorists. We're still trying to gather information regarding the . . . sudden and unusual event that stopped the attack. We don't know what exactly killed the terrorists, or why. But we have sixty-three children dead, a hundred and five injured and about forty-two unaccounted for. As you know, I am declaring Martial law as of now, at two P.M. on the twenty-eighth of April. The Autobots, the city police, the National Guard and all county departments are on red alert. We will begin searching the city for the terrorists and we will shoot to kill on sight. All businesses will be closed as of seven o'clock every night. Anyone caught on the streets after eight o'clock will be arrested. No exceptions. I will hold another conference as soon as we can attain more information."

Sprintlin withdrew from the podium to signal he was through. Reporters shouted questions at him and he stepped up to the mics. "Look, I-I'm very tired. I haven't slept in a week. So I will answer only three questions. The rest will be handled by Officer Dotti Gibbens. You there, with KDCT."

"Thank you Mayor Sprintlin." The woman kept a sturdy gaze on the exhausted man. "Will there be public executions concerning these terrorists?"

"We are considering it. But at this time, all we care about is putting a stop to this insanity. Our children are now a target and (sigh) I'm tired of all the deaths. You there, in the Dr. Who shirt."

"Thank you Mayor." The news reporter took to his feet. "Sir, with the impact damage of the all the bombs, what will this do to the economy in the long run?"

"Central City, as some of you might know, has contracts with Fortress Maximus. Most of that contract stipulates a trade between the cities as far as fuel and resources goes and the upkeep and construction provided by our friends. So any damage done stipulated in the contract will be handled by Fortress Maximus. Last question, you there, in the suit."

"Mr. Mayor, is it true that an unknown, alien force is responsible for stopping the terrorists at the school?"

Sprintlin stared at him for a long moment. "Mr. . . . Danker, is it? We can't confirm that. All we know is that three Autobots, one Rodimus Prime, were seriously injured during the fight. The school had been surrounded and attacked on three sides. We found fourteen terrorists killed by unknown causes. And two have been diagnosed with schizophrenia."

* * *

"It doesn't exist." Mrs. Jamison declared two days later as she held the zip-bagged hypo in her hands. 

"What do you mean?" Streets asked, his face twisted with puzzlement.

"I mean the DNA doesn't exist. I can't get any readings on it at all. And perhaps that's why we haven't been able to really pin point the Dopps. They register as just another person. The DNA doesn't have a substantial psychic projection at all. It's as if-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Tolomsky waved a Micky-D's apple pie in his hand. "You're saying that the DNA is unreadable psychically because it really has no life force of its own?"

Jamison pursed her lips, her whole body sagged in weariness. "This DNA doesn't come from something, Chief. All DNA patterns come from living things, right? Wood, plants, animals, people, insects, there's even a type identifying the extraterrestrial metal that makes up the Transformers race. But this stuff has nothing of the kind."

"Perceptor said it resembles Chapronite DNA, though." Streets suggested.

"But it's not. It's missing too many things; no elements like iron or genetic strands like blond hair, blue eyes, etcetera."

Tolomsky pointed at the weary psychic with a slight smile on his face. "But the Chapronites don't have hair or eyes-or a head."

Jamison fell silent for a long moment, tipping the hypo one way, then the other, watching as a few precious drops of liquid flowed in the directions of the tilt. She took a bite of her sourdough sandwich, thoughtfully chewing. "I . . . I think I'd like to talk to Optimus Prime about something. I'm . . . I have a wild hunch."

Optimus' office was open. The Chapronite ambassador, Lt. Updegraff, two police officers and Brian Witwicky gathered about the front of his desk. Optimus leaned against the front of his desk, facing them all at once. He was expecting Brian's parents to come parading in at any moment, hoping to attain Brian's salvation either by verbal force, or by subpoena. But if they were smart, Netty and Daniel would stay as far away from the boy as possible. Brian was going to be locked up for a very long time, if they didn't find grounds for execution first.

"This is all a fucking lie!" Brian whined. "I wasn't even there at the school! Look, I got friends that will swear that I wasn't."

"No doubt." Optimus grunted, unconvinced. Brian was a mess. He was bandaged head to foot and he slightly trembled.

"What's that mean?" Brian snapped.

"Some friends will do anything for a favor. All I want is information regarding 'joys'."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The boy sneered

"Very well." Prime reached around and picked a digipad from his desktop. "Perhaps you'd like to explain how three crates came to Fort Max, shipped right from Seattle in your name."

"My name?"

"That's correct." Optimus confirmed with a leveled voice, "Brian Witwicky. We thought it suspicious and took liberties to open the crates."

"That's against the law! You're not authorized to open my-"

"Mail?" Prime intervened. "Ahh. I see. Then it was supposed to be shipped to you. Well, Brian. Seeing how you've basically confessed to it, might I ask why you are purchasing or receiving weapons and hypodermic needles?"

Brian said nothing, not even willing to look the Transformer in the optics.

"Hmmhm." Prime punched a few buttons on the digipad. "I'd say that was all; I wish it were, but it's not. How about six crates that disappeared eight days ago?"

"What about it?" Brian sneered.

Optimus leaned over, looking more like a god of judgment just then, his blue optics shedding bright light over the Human. "In their place was a piece of paper, a home work assignment from school with your name on it-and your Aunt's business card under it." Optimus stopped as footsteps echoed from the hall. He thought about closing the door earlier. Such discussions should always be private. But frankly, he didn't like to feel closed in around Brian. There was something about the boy that he didn't like. Not that he hated Brian, but he didn't like him, either.

Streetwise, and Mrs. Jamison peeked through the door way, Tolomsky followed them at a slower pace, a cellphone attached to his ear.

The Chapronite stood away from his post at the wall. "Return latter time. Other interests require attention."

"I'm sorry, Ambassador." Optimus' softer voice followed. "I can contact you later."

But the stick-figure alien did not answer and Optimus hoped 'it' was not upset. The Autobot leader turned to the 'boy' and his keepers. "Perhaps we should continue this later. I might have Ultra Magnus interrogate you instead."

"He doesn't need to leave." Mrs. Jamison objected. "I have a couple of questions." She threw him a mean grin when he suddenly looked hopeless.

"I don't have to answer." He snarled.

"No, you don't." Jamison answered flatly. "I can pick up on things, hints, emotions. All I have to do is punch the right buttons. Like," here she dangled the bagged hypodermic needle. "Isn't this yours? You left it at the school attacked by your little buddies."

Brian's eyes shot wide and he aimed to kick her. His keepers yanked him back, but did not harm him. "I WASN'T THERE!" He shrieked.

"Funny." Jamison mused. "The bruise on your right shin says otherwise. It's about the same height a girl of nine might reach if she were trying to break your bone. Oh, by the way, the finger prints on the hypo match the ones on your finger. And another note, Brian, this DNA isn't real, is it? It doesn't actually exist, does it?"

Brian's face turned white as a sheet. Mrs. Jamison started to pace around the trio; Brian and his two turnkeys. "ALL I CAN SEE IS THE BREEZE AND THE WIND." she sang softly.

Optimus shrank away behind his desk, Street's optics followed his commander's odd reaction to the song.

But Jamison seemed not to notice. "ME AND MY SHADOW TWIN, TWO HEADS, ONE MIND. ME, MY SHADOW AND THE WIND." She stood straight before him, still dangling the hypo in her hand. "Come on, Brian. They might let you live if you help us out."

Brain's jaw clinched. "You're right. The DNA isn't real DNA."

Optimus set his hands on the back of his chair. "Then what is it?"

Brian shook his head, looking down. "I don't know. It's not manufactured. They say it's . . ."

"Old." Mrs. Jamison nodded. "Isn't it? Old, old, old." She watched as Brian still could not make eye contact. She moved her face too close to his, just to speak in one ear: "Rrogoche." She said it loud enough for the others to hear, but the satisfaction came when Brian jumped, his eyes darting back and forth from one of her eyes to the other.

Tolomsky's face twisted. "What's that got to do with the bombing?"

But rather than answer his question, Jamison turned to Optimus holding the bag like a trophy. "What happened at the school was no accident. One force attacked another."

Optimus' optics narrowed. "Are you saying that there was more than one battle occurring?"

"I'm saying that something was awakened. I'm saying that whatever it was that destroyed the Dopps, did so because it was attacking this DNA, or whatever it really is."

Optimus knew what the next question should be. He knew it needed to be asked. He did not want to ask it in front of everyone else. But there was nothing he could do; "Brian, when you attacked your sister, did something from within her attack everyone?"

Brian suddenly looked very faint. "I don't want to remember that." he whispered.

"Come on, Brian." Tolomsky prodded. "You obviously instigated it.

"No!" He whined. "Please, that . . . There are some things not meant to be known!"

"Such as what, Brian?" Prime asked. "Such as the fact that your sister has been Touched by Something?"

"I don't know!" Brian snapped. "I don't wanna know! I saw what that THING, that Force did! I heard those two guys shriek like nothing I'd ever heard before! I dunno what she did to them, but it was the most horrible thing I'd ever heard!"

"And where is your sister now, Brian?" Jamison asked.

"God only knows."

"So you admit to giving that crap to her." Tolomsky pressed.

"Yes! For god's sake! Get out of my face! She was a pest!"

Streetwise finally knelt in front of the Human. "Is there an antidote to this stuff?"

"What? No! We don't use an antidote!"

Jamison raised her brows. "The Dopps use this to make doubles of themselves, don't they, Brian? They . . ohmigod!" She turned to Prime. "Optimus! It just occurred to me! If this is both joys and the DNA, the Dopps have been using this to make themselves invisible! Somehow, you can tweak it, adjust it to create a drug, or allow you to become invisible or use it to commit mitosis!"

Streets took to his feet. "You know, if we were to somehow create a counter-agent, something that kills this stuff in the blood without killing the host, we might be able to stop the Dopps from becoming invisible, or selling the stuff on the market. It might not be an answer to everything, but it's a start."

"Do it." Prime ordered. "I'm sending everyone we can spare to scour the city for the missing children." He pulled out his chair and typed into his computer. Brian was quietly escorted out, followed by the others. Mrs. Jamison gave Prime a last, sad look and followed Streets out the building.

"You know, your commander is very sick." She reported quietly.

"He looked fine to me." Streets dismissed.

"Not outwardly sick, Streetwise. She paused and stared at the ignorant Autobot. She wanted to say something more, to try to explain to him what she meant. But Jamison decided Streetwise would not understand. She wondered if there was anybody in all the city that could.

* * *

Early May morning brought clouds and the sweetness of soft rainfall. Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky marched up the police station stairs and demanded on no uncertain terms to talk to Lt. Tolomsky. 

"Chief Tolomsky." The receptionist corrected as Delphra entered behind them.

"Whatever." Daniel growled.

Tolomsky denied their request to see him and Daniel pushed his way through anyway, his wife and sister in-law tagging along. Their faces were worn with fear and rage. Daniel smashed Tolomsky's door to pieces without a second thought and stood before the desk with crossed arms.

Tolomsky crunched on a pretzel. He had been up for three days straight and wasn't in a mood for a stupid, cranky over-paid . . .

"My daughter's missing and I don't see anybody trying to find her."

"Oh. You two again." Tolomsky answered with a casual grunt. "Well, which one is it this time? Your teenage daughter who has more sense and guts than my entire department, or your little one who should be in a good foster home?"

Delphra pushed her way between the parents and pointed an evil finger at Tolomsky. "You watch your mouth there, asshole!" She snarled. "You'll find yourself in court!"

Tolomsky tried very hard to keep from smiling at her. She was nothing. Besides, he had an 'in' with the DA (married). "WELL!" He boomed very loudly. "LET ME SEE HERE: I HAVE TWENTY-SEVEN DEPARTMENTS STANDING ON RED ALERT FOR THREE FREAKIN' WEEKS. I HAVE NOT SEEN MY WIFE IN FOUR. I HAVE EVERY MAN, DOG AND DAME OUT ON THE CORNER, TRYING TO FIND THE DOPPLEGANGER TERRORISTS. I HAVE THE BLOOD OF THREE HUNDRED AND SOME-ODD PEOPLE ENGRAVED ON THE SCREEN OF MY COMPUTER. THE WHOLE CITY'S BURNING ALL TO HELL AND I CAN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I HAD A DESCENT HOME-COOKED MEAL."

He paused and smiled and his voice dropped. "Now you want me to just drop all that and go looking for one little girl? Folks, I'm sorry. You may have to resort to other means yourself. File a missing persons report and I'll set it ON THE STACK ALONG WITH ABOUT EIGHTY OTHER MISSING PERSONS! NOW GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"

They retreated, albeit reluctantly. Netty threw the chief one last sad glance. Tolomsky was a little sorry but two minutes later he was his usual cheerful genius self.

The parents and in-law exited the police station and Netty started to cry. She pushed the other two aside, making her way to the car.

Where did they all go wrong?

* * *

The city streets echoed the wails of the police and rescue sirens. Curfew was strictly enforced, people shut the doors, locking and blocking them, boarding their windows in fear. The whole city now lay in the grip of terror. It seemed even worse at night, when the moon failed to shine through late spring clouds, when rain would cause the cold to ice over and embitter even the best of hearts. Suddenly dog teams stomping the sidewalk became an everyday occurrence. Hired psychics lead groups of police, EDC or military official from one broken building filled with missing or dead bodies, to underground stashes of weapons, or old hideouts that might indicate where the Dopps spent their nights. 

But for some children, life ended cold when Ashlyn led Ultra Magnus to an old condemned theater. Eleven children were kindly let down from the ceiling and carted away in body bags, their parents, friends and priests all wept bitterly, slandering the perpetrators.

Much to Optimus' private relief, Rusti was not among them. He sat with Rodimus the first part of each day, discussing ideas and tactics, updating news and trying to give and receive some kind of encouragement. But frankly, both leaders felt a despair that could not be comforted. Optimus had long since abandoned his paperwork, finding his concentration levels far too gone to do anything more than drop the present digipad back on the desk and walk away.

He decided to assist on the search, much to Kup's grumbling. He needed to do something; he needed to feel he was actually doing something more than just receiving round the clock reports and waiting. Central City had grown exponentially since the Autobots first landed over fifty years ago and it took every man and woman available to comb through it, street by damaged street.

The one good thing; the only good thing was that the Dopps had fallen back and the terrorism had come to a cease-fire. The city still sat helpless. Surrounding counties and government agencies had to fly all supplies and manpower in just to keep things going. But it was costly.

"The roadblocks are a serious problem." Roddi admitted two mornings later. First Aid marveled at how fast Rodimus was healing, but his midsection was taking longer and Rodimus would have to wait a few more days before leaving the bedside. Roddi found all his energy was devoted to the grafting procedure and he lay shut down most of the time. Even as he sat up, talking with Optimus who had found a comfortable place on the floor for the past four days, he found he was sleepy, and he hadn't even been awake for more than half an hour.

"The Boys Down Town have interrogated every Dopp Clown, as they called them, and haven't come up with any answers regarding the road blocks. Even if we finally conquer the Dopps, even if we annihilate them, how will we get rid of the blocks?"

Prime stared out the window, watching a single bird fly across a gloomy cloudy sky. His worries for Rusti kept him from taking much else into consideration. Someone he loved was missing, maybe dead . . . NO! He fought to control his fear. She wasn't dead! She wasn't dead! And it seemed every moment of every hour of every day he had to keep telling himself that very thing. She wasn't dead!

He couldn't look at Rodimus at that moment. He felt his expression would give it all away; betray the battle for control that raged in him.

"They're going to find her." Rodimus promised with a tone quiet as a feather falling to the ground. "Nobody's giving up on her. It's frightening, I know. I know."

Optimus still could not look at him. But now, he couldn't say anything, either.

Street's entire quarters had been rearranged to accommodate piles of digipads, two erase-a-boards and a chalkboard. He lay on his couch, which faced all three boards. The pile of digipads sat on the floor nearby. He said nothing for the longest time; knowing the silence was killing Blades and Sideswipe. Hotspot was still under First Aid's fussy care and probably would remain there for a while yet. Blades hadn't completely recovered, either, but he was a lousy patient, hating to be cooped up in a place where people came to stare.

All the notes from the clues they collected over the last month stood scribbled on one board or another. Everything from the places bombed, to the blockades, to the puppets given to the police department, to the scribbles in black and white on the boards. And Streets went over and over it all in his mind. Something bugged him. Something was missing and he had no idea what it was.

Blades finally sighed where he sat in the corner of the room on the floor. He adjusted his position, cringing in pain from yet-unhealed wounds. He crossed his arms, lifting his knees. "You know that saying, 'it ain't over 'till it's over'?"

'Yeah." Streets answered without looking at him.

"Well, I wish it were over. I know you love a good mystery, Streets. I know you like living one better. But this whole thing has torn the city apart. People are dying left and right, children and adults disappear, hospitals are raided-"

"You know," Streets interrupted. "That's the thing that really gets me. With all the senseless death and mindless destruction-if you'll excuse the cliché, the hospital thing doesn't add up. It's like . . . someone threw an extra wrench into the car for no reason. Hadn't you noticed that? It's a piece of the puzzle that doesn't belong."

Blades moaned and shook his head. Streets slid off his couch as Mrs. Jamison entered the opened doorway, peeking in. Sideswipe silently waved to her as Streets plucked up a cloth and wiped the hospital incident off the right erase-a-board.

"Hey, Mrs. J." Streets glanced over his shoulder and gave her a smile. The poor lady looked really tired.

"Still at it, Streets? Don't you guys ever take vacations?"

"Not until an assignment is over. That's why we're so good on missions and such. We don't wear out-"

"No." Jamison shook her head at the Protectobot, "but you do wear down. What are you erasing there?"

"Eh? Oh, just the hospital incidents. You wouldn't happen to figure that one out, would ya, Mrs. J?"

Jamison watched Streets cross the room and collapse back onto his stiff couch. She hugged her purse, her face a blanket of sadness and resolution. "Streetwise, I am just a housewife. I get up in the morning to see my children off to school. I clean house, watch a soap, read a book and run errands, paying bills. I sometimes do work for the police department and I make dinner. Then I go to bed and make love to the man I married. I live a very simple, non-hurried life. I like simplicity. And this, all of this, cannot be any more difficult than going to the kitchen and finding the ingredients to make toast."

"I don't follow you, Mrs. J." Streets answered plainly.

"Me neither." Blades grunted. "What's toast?"

Jamison turned to the boards and stared at all the scribbling. "What haven't we thought of?"

"You mean, what are we missing?"

"No, what haven't we been considering?"

Streets shrugged and Jamison turned back around. "We've taken down all the clues, written out all the graffiti. We've taken photographs and considered their unusual technology. But last night it hit me in a dream; something we really haven't been thinking about at all. We've been treating the Dopps as criminals; as killers, right?"

Blades looked a bit annoyed. "Well, aren't they? They're terrorists."

"But they're also religious, Blades. They are devout, so much so that they use some kind of . . . DNA . . ." She paused and stared into nothing for a long moment. Blades, Sides and Streets stared at her, waiting. "Where did that stuff come from?"

"Dunno." Streets answered. "Why?"

"Didn't the puppet museum say something of the sort? Something about . . . the blood of Rrogoche?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. J." Streets answered.

"I do." Blades answered flatly. He stood from his corner, cringing with effort. "And I'm willing to bet the body count has some significance too."

"What are you talking about?" Sideswipe insisted.

"Guys, think about this; we're dealing with religious fanatics here. And if everything in their lives pertains to the religion, I'm willing to bet their work does too."

Streets' optics shot wide. "Like the victims in the park; one of them was buried in a sitting position! And the other victims were placed in different positions all around her-lying in abstract posses." Streets paused a moment. "Oh Primus!" he breathed.

"What?" Jamison asked. She stepped aside as the Protectobot leapt from his couch and flew to the boards, erasing more of the hospital clues. "I got it. The hospital break-ins have nothing to do with the rest of the operation."

"Huh?" Sideswipe approached. "Say that again?"

Streets drew the human's death positions on the board first from a bird's eye view, then from the side. "Some people believe a person's energy flows in a different pattern after the spark leaves the body. And that might be the very case here. See, if we look at this more as a religious thing, rather than a simple sick case of multiple-murder, it makes sense. See each of these positions here?"

All three attendees mutely nodded.

"They're symbols-like those found in the ruins on Ganymede-landing coordinates, guys!"

The room fell dead silent, the other three stared in astonishment.

Sides was the first to speak again. "That . . . is the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. Why would they do that when all they had to do was send a radio signal?"

"No." Jamison agreed. "I think Streets is on to something. It's in keeping with the rest of the Dopp's activities. The scene at the park was sort of an introduction as much as it was a signal. By doing what they did at the park, more than their first attack-those four people burned at the stake, and damaging Springer, the incident at the park was sort of their way of saying hello."

"But for some bizarre reason," Blades added, "the people they're dealing with require hospital records. But what has that got to do with the rest of the puzzle?"

"Obviously it's a trade of some kind." Streets answered. "I mean, a kind of business transaction."

"Which . . ." Jamison stared at the space once occupied by the hospital notes. "Would explain the alien-design vehicles and the barricades."

"And the DNA?" Blades added.

Streets and Jamison stared at him, but neither of them answered.

Central City never slept. At least, most of it never slept. But now with the siege came new rules; stores closed at seven, curfew at eight, lights out at eleven. It was rough for the citizens, even more so for business. Many businesses, in fact, had to call a 'freeze' in order to stay afloat. The streets stood mostly deserted save for the occasional 'bad boy' who had to test the law. It was idiocy at best, since it wasn't just Central City police on patrol; but EDC and the national guard.

Streets, Sideswipe Blades and Mrs. Jamison managed into town without too much a fuss. All four knew if they were caught, several police agencies, plus one unmentionable Autobot leader would be 'rather put out.' But it was necessary that no one knew where they were. Care had to be taken to keep everything as normal and ordinary as possible. Streets felt if there was to be an answer, it had to be back at the museum, back somewhere in the history of the Rrogoche display.

"Hey, did you guys see that?" Sides asked as they neared the Little Tokyo district.

"What's that?" Blades asked.

"The VR place. It's open."

"Can't be." Streets admonished through their internal comline. It's one in the morning. Everybody's cuttin' logs."

"What's wrong, Streets? You've gone quiet." Jamison asked in the passenger seat.

"Ah, Sideswipe thought he saw the VR park active."

"This time of night?"

"Well, it was his assignment for the past week and a half." He announced so that everyone else could hear. "He's just missing the place."

"Yeah, right!" Sideswipe snapped back. "I know what I saw, Streets."

"Okay, okay. After we're done at the museum, we can swing back. Maybe it's just the janitors or something."

They stopped about two blocks shy of the museum and climbed the side of a Mrs. Field's cookie store to the rooftop.

"This is insane." Blades just transformed, flew up and changed back to robot form. "Here we're sneaking around like a group of cat robbers when we're supposed to be the good guys. I hope your idea proves to have merit, Streets. Otherwise, I'll start telling everybody you reprogrammed me into doing your bidding."

Streets set a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Will you relax? We'll be fine! And we are the good guys. We're just doing research under a different hat, that's all." He let Mrs. Jamison down from his shoulder strut and she too looked unconvinced.

"You know, I'm supposed to be fast asleep, getting mentally ready to send my kids off to school tomorrow, not playing catwoman."

Streets bent over, spreading a kind smile over his face. "Mrs. J, did I ever tell you that you're my hero?"

It shut her up. But Streets meant what he said. Of all the humans he interacted with, from the general public to the well-trained EDC and police officers, Mrs. Jamison proved to be the best. She was calm, but not unemotional. She was rational, but not unresponsive. Tolomsky was right; Mrs. Jamison was a remarkable woman. Streets geared himself mentally, took off with a running start and leapt to the other building. The other three stared at him, wondering what had possessed him to do such a thing.

Then Sides shrugged. "Well, you know, what works, works." And in the next minute, he joined the Protectobot.

Blades didn't need to do such a thing. He courteously gave Mrs. Jamison a hand and flew over, landing far more quietly than the other two bungling idiots.

Far too pleased with his plan, Streets did it again and again after that until he was one building away from the museum. He climbed down the side of the bookstore and waited while Blades joined him first, transforming just before landing and carefully setting their Human companion on the ground. Sideswipe joined them about thirty seconds later, landing with a resounding thump. His companions both cringed at the noise and shot him dirty looks.

"Hey!" He snapped back quietly, "I'm an Autobot, not an acrobat!"

They managed to slip passed the extensive security and disabled the cameras. Mrs. Jamison added her share by sneaking around the first floor and used chloroform on all the janitors and officers on duty.

When everything was secure, they made their way around force fields and into the one room containing the very objects that told the ugly story of Rrogoche.

"Can you recap for me what this is all about?" Sides asked as he stared at the Puppet of Flames."

Streets and Blades both stared at the terrible wood-and-grass statue of Rrogoche, wondering if indeed it had a soul of its own.

Streets glanced at Mrs. Jamison then back at the statue. "From what I've been able to put together, the Rrogoche cult existed somewhere during the dark ages. The occultists, who lived mostly underground, would commit Human sacrifice and go out to the world and commit all kinds of evil deeds in the name of Rrogoche, the god of war and violence. Supposedly, Rrogoche herself was a warrior who murdered even her own kind, devouring them often right on the spot. She promised great things to her faithful followers, powers not possessed by Humanity. And by drinking of her blood, the occultists were able to do miraculous and terrible things to the people in whatever town they lived nearby."

Jamison glanced at the ceiling, noticing how huge black flowers were posted in the corners. "Streets, does the legend say how Rrogoche was defeated?"

"Not clearly. Just that the townsfolk cleansed the cultists of their blood and burned the bodies."

Blades tore himself away from the statue, hoping that's all it was. He could still feel it staring at him and surges ran up and down his infrastructural spine. "What are we looking for, Streetwise?"

"Something we might have missed. Something that speaks more of who and what these people are."

"Oh," Jamison perked, "you mean like 'It is the will and the desire of Rrogoche that sorrow should reign on the Earth?"

"Yeah." Streets agreed, his optics still fixed on the three-eyed puppet. He hated the thing, but found he had a morbid fascination over it.

"How about . . . " Jamison continued, "for two moons, dark of face, shall Rrogoche the Annihilator, the Initiator of Desolation, walk the Earth."

Now she suddenly had the attention of all three Autobots. They stared at her, astonished.

"Where'd you read that?" Sides asked.

"It's right here on this staff." Mrs. Jamison answered simply. "There's not much more, but I think I can make it out."

Streets shook his head. "How are you able to read that? Did you take a class in Ancient Japanese?"

"It's not written in Japanese, Streets. It's written in their own text language. It's written in the frays and senselessness of their emotions. Remember, I'm a psychic. I pick up, of all things, emotions. Emotions, like shoes walking in dirt, leave prints. I simply have the talent to be able to read those prints, invisible to everyone else. It's like seeing the dead. But I'm seeing the 'psychic footprints' of the emotions left after the person is dead and gone."

This was exciting and Streets wondered if an answer to his every question lay right here. "Is there more, Mrs. J? Is there?"

"Let's see . . . where did I leave off? Oh, here: Uhh . . . two moons, dark of face-oh! Rrogoche shall walk the Earth. And we, her humblest of servants, shall reap a great feast for her; a feast of two thousand dishes. And we shall praise her name forever more. We who are blessed, we who have chosen and been chosen. . . . Ah . . ." she flushed a little. "It goes into sexual description from there and I really don't want to get into that."

Sideswipe, Blades and Streets exchanged looks. Sideswipe's optics narrowed. Blades stared at his feet. Streets fingered his chin, staring at the ceiling.

Sides spoke first again. "What's that mean 'two moons dark?"

"Dark of face?" Jamison answered. The late night was begging to wear her down. "I dunno."

"Dark of face . . . " Blade mused. "Might that mean two new moons, two months?"

"It might." Streets answered carefully. "If that's the case, then for two months, their reign of terror would continue."

"Not for us." Sideswipe objected. "We've already been through one month."

"Right." Streets agreed. And . . . and the puppets. There's six altogether and each of them represent a different phase in the cults' attack."

Blades threw him a look of disbelief. "How do you figure?"

"Well, the Watcher attacked first, right? Then the Murderer-that is Mass-murderer. Then the pyromaniac. You guys follow me? Then there's the one of death-and all of us have seen that one. So what's left?"

"The sixth one." Jamison swiftly answered. "The one puppet with the mask on."

"And what's that supposed to represent?" Sides asked.

No one could answer yet. Streets turned away, his mind suddenly someplace else completely. "You know," he stated after a moment's thought, "throughout history, the ancient peoples used masks in ceremonies to take on the identity of a god or a power they themselves wished to represent. It's documented in every ancient culture ever studied, even in cultures off-world. The use of puppeteering doesn't date back nearly as far as masks and I'm willing to bet that the masked puppet signifies that the cultists would, at a certain point, take on the very identity, the very form of Rrogoche herself."

"I think you're reaching here, Streetwise." Blades grunted. "They already possess her power. Why would they want to become her?"

"Well, think of it, Blades. To become a god is as universal as the need for energy. Hero worship, religion, even something as simple as being a fan of a movie, a TV series or some ideal is so common, we don't realized that just being a fan is a reflection of being something greater and better than you are. You're a MASH fan, you should know. How often have you wished you could be as silly or as clever as Hawkeye? The only difference between you and the ancient peoples who used masks, is you have television to loose yourself into for a half hour everyday. They had ceremonies that lasted from one night, to a whole week. Mrs. Jamison, is there anything, anything more at all?"

"A feast of two thousand dishes?" Mrs. Jamison sighed.

Streets nodded. "And what's the body count to date?"

"What?" Blades asked in disbelief. "Streetwise, take a break, won't you? Can't you see Mrs. J is exhausted? Have some thought other than your case, alright? Let's just take the lady home and come back tomorrow."

Streets left the museum with terrible reluctance. There was still so much more he wanted to explore. But he knew Sideswipe and Blades were right. Humans, unlike Transformers, couldn't just go on for days and days without a rest. That was both advantageous and disadvantageous, he supposed. Humans ate food, which they could manufacture at far less the cost of making energon. And they didn't require as much of it as some Autobots needed fuel.

Streets smiled inwardly as he pulled up to Mrs. Jamison's home. He actually did think of something other than the case! But he said nothing of it to the others.

Mrs. Jamison disembarked from his interior and searched for her keys.

"I'm really very sorry, Mrs. Jamison." Streets said quietly.

She patted his hood. "Go home, Streetwise. Get some sleep, like your friends told you to. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Perceptor flipped the next slide while the senior staff looked on in horror and confusion. More ugly pictures of drug users; their filthy bodies and empty expressions. But this slide showed something a little different; a blood sample. 

"This is 'joys'." Perceptor pointed. "The red substance, naturally, is blood. The silver discs are part of the so-called alien DNA injected into the body. They perform a double function: endorphin stimulation and chemical-electro-magnetism. It overstimulates brain wave impulses and heightens adrenaline activity far above normal parameters. For Humans, Joys administers a constant state of surrealism. Their perceptions deceive them and their entire world is a faulty system of stimulus and response modes. Everything around them is a state of perpetual illusion. For example: what a normal person might see as a building, the person under the influence of 'joys' might see a monster. The point of it is that the alien DNA proves to be the very same source the Doppelgangers use to create their twins. And now we have proof it can be altered so that the person in question can appear invisible."

Roddi and Optimus had heard all this earlier. They were here merely to support Perceptor while he made his report to EDC, Fort Max and Central City staff leaders. Rodimus merely listened in to make sure he hadn't missed out on anything earlier when Perceptor presented his findings to them in private. Optimus, on the other hand, kept toying with the digipad between his hands. His whole manner was downcast, not so much as occasionally glancing at Perceptor. _You've been painfully silent in the last two days._ Roddi sent. _I know. I'm worried about her, too._

Optimus didn't look at him. _I'm terrified, Rodimus._

Rodimus sat up in surprise, not caring whether or not Marissa glanced his way. _Why?_

Now Optimus looked at him. A sense of sadness assailed his expression and Rodimus was sorry he intruded. _I can't sense anything of her. No feeling, no words, no presence._

Optimus paused a moment. _And no laughter._ Optimus returned to the digipad and fell silent again. Roddi felt badly for him. Optimus was eating himself up with grief; something the Second hadn't counted on. Without that Sense, neither of them knew whether or not Rusti was alive. He gazed at the slide in the front of the room. The answer to their problem was suddenly very obvious to him. The 'joys' emitted electro magnetic radiation. And that right there could be what was blocking them from her. With her mind altered like that, it could affect other aspects of the brain.

Roddi's optics narrowed and he waited three beats before interrupting Perceptor's dissertation. "Perceps, could that stuff affect psychics, too? Do you think it could disrupt their ability to send and receive information on a psychic level?"

Perceptor stared at him, stunned. He craned his neck forward, tilted it slightly to the right. "Hmm. I hadn't thought of that . . . I presume the possibilities might be numerous . . . because of the E.M." His voice trailed off. He switched the projector down and turned to the erase-a-board. Now he really had everyone's attention. He scribbled madly across the board in Autobot, sketching and erasing as fast as he wrote. He whispered to himself a time or two, spitting out a formula, then a hypothesis then a premise and another hypothesis.

Everyone in the room held their breath, wondering what idea struck him just then. Suddenly the Scientist swung about; his whole frame animated by the excitement of a brainstorm. "Commander, I think you've hit an interesting nail on the head! If I'm accurate, the 'joys' not only suppresses certain mental functions, but enhances others."

At that point, even Optimus raised his head and gave the Autobot scientist his attention.

Perceptor pointed to the board, painfully aware not everyone in the room could read Autobot. But that was not the issue at this point. "Here, we have alpha/delta frequency waves used in psychics. There's an enhancer many telekinetic use in the gamma frequency. If that frequency is altered or cut off, those areas of the brain using ESP will simply reroute the directional flow. It's like power being cut off in one section of a town, and PG&E coming along and rerouting the whole system to temporarily keep things flowing until that downed area can be repaired."

Marissa stood and pointed to the board. "What exactly does that mean? Are the abilities changed? If my ability to use my right arm is affected by the same process, would my brain rewire itself and suddenly I'm using my left arm?"

The scientist stared at her, trying to predict the implications of what he was saying himself. "Possibly." He said carefully. "It could also determine that what was lying dormant could be awakened. Say for example, someone who never used telepathy in their lives suddenly developed a Stage Four empathy rating."

Optimus and Rodimus met optics, all emotion completely wiped from their face plates. That would most certainly explain what happened at the school.

* * *

Ashlyn lagged behind three police officers, two EDC officers and three dogs around the neighborhood. It was midday. There was nothing here, but they insisted on looking in spite of her advice. Most people had a hard time taking her seriously and this case was no exception. Ashlyn held back while the dogs whined and sniffed about one empty and condemned home. 

Nothing.

But she could have told them that. Her eyes lifted across the street where the huge VR amusement park stood. She hated it. Even in daylight, she hated the bright attractive colors and the stupid characters lining the painted walls. She hated the trees that stood dutifully in the parking lot and she hated the fact that it was a center designed to turn children's minds into mush. Instead of getting them to go out and play like children should, they strapped on goggles and sat in seats and stared into nothing.

Well, Ashlyn admitted, that wasn't entirely true. There was a giant paintball facility and a small gym and an indoor swimming pool. She supposed any child who had an ounce of a sense of adventure would have a hay day there. They could dress up, take on a new identity and do a form of live-action roll-playing.

Her niece and nephew were bright kids and they at least had the good sense to create their own games.

"What are you staring at?" One of the police officers asked.

The psychic pointed out as an Autobot drove up. "The VR center. I hate it."

The officer shrugged. "It's an okay place for me. My boy loves it."

She examined him up and down under the tree shade. Scrapes and scratches ran along Officer Yarbrough's arms. He was a hard working man, taking his job seriously.

She offered an apologetic smile. "No doubt."

The Autobot transformed into Sideswipe and bent over slightly. "Hey!" He greeted. "I've been sent to offer assistance."

Yarbrough nodded and stuck out his lower lip. "Okay. We can split up, cover more ground."

EDC officer Gribbs joined them a moment later. Her dog, Planko, seemed very excited over something in the dirt. "We can split into teams of two, go down the neighborhood an' meet back here in about two hours."

Planko whined and kept digging into the ground. Now Ashlyn's senses shouted at her.

"Planko!" Gribbs admonished, get a grip!"

"No!" Ashlyn snapped on latex gloves and started helping the dog dig into the corner of the yard. "Ohmigod!" She gasped. The others looked on as she uncovered a cold grey Human hand. Part of its fibula protruded from the dark earth. Ashlyn's stomach queezed with the smell, but she turned it carefully over while Planko barked triumphantly and sniffed elsewhere in the lawn.

Meanwhile, the owners of the house and lawn stepped out their door, horrified over the discovery. Ashlyn turned the hand around and found the back stamped with a day pass to the VR center.

She glanced across the street then at Yarbrogh. She vowed to never discredit dogs again.

Two hours and three reports later, Gribbs, Yarbrough, Ashlyn and Sideswipe entered the VR center. They tried to look as casual as possible, although it was difficult with the uniforms Gribbs and Yarbrough wore.

A skinny tall guy in a light beard and head full of hair came stomping toward them. He grabbed Yarbrogh by the arm and turned him away from the eyes of staring visitors.

"What's this all about? Hmm?" He asked sharply.

"A police investigation." Yarbrogh answered simply.

"Well, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, you can't cross any private property without a permit. That means these sacred grounds here. So take your Tonka Toy and Miss Fortune Cookie and Little Lulu and her doggy Spot and vacate the premises."

"Oh, warrant!" Yarbrough turned back with a grin. "Is that what you're asking, Mr. Moneybags?" He pulled out a piece of paper and nodded his head onward, meaning for the others to just continue on their search while he gabbed on about commercial and private property rights verses city-wide martial law.

Sideswipe and Ashlyn started on the right side of the park, aiming for the paintball facility while Gribbs and her dog took the VR gaming section.

Ashlyn peeked round corners, while Sideswipe took the high-road, trying not to be too obvious in his search. But young mothers and their little ones could tell when a police investigation was underway.

One mother turned to Ashlyn, her baby in her arms. "Excuse me, miss, can you tell me what's going on?"

The dark-skinned lady stood straight with a smile. She just examined six wooden benches and was about to look around in the swingset area. "Just looking for clues, Ma'am."

"Clues? For the missing children?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Here?"

"It's a city-wide search, Ma'am. Leave no stone unturned."

"Oh." And the lady relaxed and rocked her baby. She still seemed a little tense, but not what she might have been if Ashlyn had told her they were looking for bodies. She moved from the benches to the swings, recalling news about the bodies in a smaller park several weeks ago. She closed her eyes and concentrated, searching for any life energy leaking from under the sand.

Nothing. Silence like the starry nights under the summer sky deepened for her and Ashlyn sat in one of the swings and just stared off into nothing. The bitter scent of smoked salmon and drying jerky wafted just lightly in the air. If nothing else, the VR park stayed in business because of its specialty snacks.

How very cold things had become in town. She visited Central City on many occasions, finding such vitality and devotion not seen in other cities such as New York or L.A. Central City had its problems, like many other towns. They had a transient problem, and a housing problem among others. But that was life. Still, it was a nice town and Ashlyn considered moving here when she'd get the chance. But then there was Klammath Falls and she also loved that place; places nice . . . too sweet and sweetness was the word. Because in sweetness, you could loose yourself and you became one with something greater and better than you are and no one knows that better than the one better than you. But then, what more could there be if something was better than better?

Ashlyn blinked, wondering what interrupted her train of thought. Did she fall asleep? She glanced from one side of the playground to the other, still seeing only three women and their little ones.

She listened intently, stretching out with her senses, trying to perceive everything and any little thing that could be out there.

Any little thing at all.

Her eyes burned and she closed them, still keeping alert. There must have been something here; something powerful enough to disrupt her thoughts like that. She shivered, wondering what god-like thing could possibly be so strong? A god? A godling? A devil? Maybe a strong manifestation of poltergeists or something completely different? Something completely different. Children laughed here. They played and made dares and bonded in holy childhood friendships. They changed their spirits for a while and became pirates and heroes. They discarded their names given them by their parents and took on the identities of TV characters and played games in the cosmos. They put on costumes and painted their faces and became mighty heroes, they worshiped . . . worshiped their gods . . . they became slaves to their gods . . . they fought and died for their gods . . . they fought and died for their gods . . . they fought and died.

They fought and died and the death of millions of souls. And a thing; old, old, old. Older than Earth; older than the Matrix and it was a hated thing and it ruled the quadrant long before the word 'Quintesson' lay on the lips of intergalactic consumers.

All the way into a vortex. All the way into the belly of a god; all the way into the stomach of the cosmos. Falling, falling, falling. Embracing the darkness and breathing the darkness and kissing the darkness and becoming one with the darkness and allowing the darkness to devour you . . . piece by piece by piece . . . and you would loose yourself in it and become a part of it and with it, you become power; you become a part of its power and its power, to destroy and devour is everlasting and you, you little tiny speck in the greatness of the vast universe, you have a hand in becoming a part of that hunger, that need and desire to conquer, to take and devour and move on and devour again and the cycle, everlasting and cold would be forever.

A spike of electricity shot through Ashlyn's arms and she jumped with a start, finding herself face to face with Autobot Sideswipe.

"Hey," Sideswipe called. "You okay? You want me to take you home?"

"No." Ashlyn covered her eyes, still trying to settle after the shock. "I'm alright. But this place . . . it's haunted."

"Really?" The Autobot glanced around, expecting to see ghosts. "I don't see anything on any spectrum."

Ashlyn smiled grimly. "No, Sideswipe. A place isn't haunted because there's ghosts' floating around. It's haunted either because of psychic footprints, or because there's a power at work that creates a certain feeling or emotion in people. Sometimes it's good, sometimes its' bad."

"You're saying there's no such thing as ghosts."

"No. I'm merely saying there's no ghosts here." She was suddenly very tired. Ashlyn made her way out of the playground, feeling rather clumsy as she tried walking in sand. She had become a little irritable and hoped Sideswipe didn't take it personally. Sometimes she would say some things in ways people would take wrong and she'd have to go back and apologize.

Ashlyn strolled down a hallway toward the mini-gym and the basketball court. Sideswipe politely, silently followed her and they glanced at the mural decorating the hallway. At first Ashlyn paid it no mind but she stopped suddenly and stared at the mural to the right. Pictures of boys on skateboards dominated the scene, jumping right out as though to land on the viewer. Girls with protective gear held paintball guns in their arms, splattered each other. They all smiled. There was even a tree in the background that smiled. There were smiling faces on the paintballs as they flew through the air.

"Oh gawd." Ashlyn breathed.

"Hmm?" Sideswipe stepped away from the wall with her, both of them now studying the wall. At first glance, the picture was exactly what it seemed to be. But by stepping back, and erasing the face features and the colors, both Autobot and Human alike saw what the mural really looked like: the representation of the Watcher; the paintballs were its eyes, the shape of the skateboard arena became its face and the grass and trees formed secret text.

Sideswipe's face turned blank. "Uh, Mrs. Gribbs, I think it's time we sorta left the facility." He called into his internal comline. "Officer Gribbs?"

Ashlyn finally pulled out her radio. "Officer Yarbrough?" She called. 'Yarbrough?"

"Yeah." Came a grunt.

"Uh, we can't seem to contact Gribbs." Ashlyn didn't feel it a good idea to say anything of their finding, especially considering they might be in the Doppelgangers' very hangout.

"Okay." Yarbrough answered. "Meet me at the restaurant section, okay?"

Ashlyn and Sideswipe exchanged uneasy glances but agreed to it, anyway.

The gaming center started out on a half acre of flatland property and worked its way into the mountainside. Shops and little eateries lined that part of the center with pleasantries and candy shops of all kinds. It was a haunt for kids on the weekends, but it also drew young mothers on the weekdays when they had time on their hands and their husbands were away at work. There was plenty to do, even without paying for paintball games, or VR movies, or other things. Shops and book/comic stores, a beautiful resting area allured the weary to come and sit at a waterfall while hired musicians played live music.

Sides and Ashlyn arrived at the center of the atrium and waited for Yarbrough to arrive. But not for ten minutes did he do so.

Just when Ashlyn was about to leave, the police officer arrived. "I suggest we leave as quickly and quietly as possible." He said in a hushed and hurried tone."

"Why? What's wrong?" Sideswipe asked.

"Just . . . let's just do it." He laid a hand on Ashlyn's back and her skin froze all over. A sudden terror took over her and she shook her head, unable to control her fear. Her heart raced and she couldn't get her body to move.

"Mrs. Foster?" Yarbrough asked. "Is there something wrong?"

Ashlyn stared at him in disgust. He never called her that-she never told him what her last name was-she shook her head again and ran off, not really knowing why she ran. Yarbrough's heavy feet trailed her and Sideswipe lumbered after, shouting Yarbrough's name, trying to figure out what was going on.

Ashlyn kept moving until she found an 'employee's only' door. She dashed through it and down the hall, trying to run as fast as she could. The psychic didn't want to be around Yarbrough. She ran into one room, darted down that hallway and she could still feel him coming after her.

RUN, RUN, AS FAST AS YOU CAN, YOU CAN'T CATCH ME, IM' THE GINGERBREAD MAN oh, and what a mad song it was! What a mad story! For the little gingerbread man was obviously arrogant and deserved to be eaten in the end! And Ashlyn hoped she wasn't taking his place . . .

RUN, RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN . . . RUN, RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN . . .

She laid her hands on another door and opened into another bright, white hallway and that led to only one door. She passed through that, allowing the door to close on its own and found herself in a house of mirrors. Ashlyn stepped back, her hand reaching for the door knob. She wasn't about to fall for this. She hated tricks of light and shadow-she saw that often enough in her dreams. The young lady turned for the door knob and found nothing there. She padded the wall, thinking maybe a trick of shadow had hidden the knob from her sight.

Not so. There was the regular crack along the threshold, but there was no doorknob on this side of the door. Panic took her and Ashlyn pounded on the wall.

"Nooo!"' she cried. Let me out of here! I'm claustrophobic!" She pounded until she realized there would be no going back. The young woman tried to calm and forced herself to take a step. Then two. Then three.

Maybe it won't be so bad.

THONK. She ran into a window. And the moment she did so, the lights switched to red and ultra-violet, making sight nearly impossible. She started to hyperventilate and leaned against a mirror. "Please," she begged, "Let me out of here, please."

No answer. She pulled herself up and pressed forward, hitting either a mirror then a window. She slammed on a mirror, less angry that it was a mirror than if it had been a window. Around. Left. THONK.(window) Right. Straight. THONK. (Mirror) Right, THONK. (Mirror) Right. THONK. (Window) Left. Left. Left. THONK. (Mirror) Right. Straight. Straight. THONK. (Window) Right. THONK. (Window) Right. Left. Straight. THONK (Mirror) Right, THONK. (Window)Straight. THONK. (Window) Left. Left. THONK. (Window)

"Aaagggghhhh!" She screamed and in frustration, Ashlyn slammed into another window and it made her so mad that she pounded into it with all her might, shattering the glass and slicing her hands. The glass fragmented and in her deranged state, all she could see were the eyes of the Watcher, laughing at her childish temper. And voices from everywhere chanted in a language long since forgotten by alien intelligence. The faces of puppets turned to her, stone cold, stone dead, their eyes fixed, intending to take her life.

Their chanting shot upward like a great cannon firing a single blast, a scream that obliterated everything in its path. The scream lasted forever and its power swathed a path of death for miles unseen.

Overcome by despair, Ashlyn sank to her knees, sobbing. Her bloodied hands stung and smeared red drops all over her clothes. The whispers of millions of voices kept chanting at her and Ashlyn forgot what reality was like outside the VR park.

* * *

Two days. Optimus stared past his computer monitor past the closed doors to his office. Where was she? He had three teams searching for her. He assigned four of his best trackers. Tolomsky had his people looking for her. A bulletin had been posted, but with the city so torn up and panic spreading as badly as the fire in the Cynodont district, there was no telling who had or hadn't seen her. Prime tried not to think about the possibility they might never find her. Or they'd find her dead. 

That was unacceptable!

Something crunched in his hand, snapping like the fragile bones of a Human being. He nearly leapt out of his seat and found all he had crushed was a digipad. A stupid digipad!

He turned away from his desk. There was so much to do and he simply could not get himself to even read. He gloomily stared out the window. This was ridiculous! He had been though worse than this and was still able to perform his duties.

Well, admittedly, not always. There were other times, other friends he grieved over.

"Prime?" Magnus peered through the door. "Didn't you hear me knock?"

Prime turned and frowned at himself. "No. Come in." He sat down, knowing Magnus was there to hand him more work.

But Ultra Magnus did nothing of the sort. He took the chair opposite the desk and sat down, steepling his fingers. His large optics studied the Autobot leader for a moment. Optimus was in another of his darker moods. The piles of undone digipads alone told the whole story.

Shame shadowed Prime's whole frame. He knew what this was about; his lack of interest and inability to do his job. "I'm sorry, Magnus." He said softly.

Magnus shook his head, "For what?" He asked.

The Autobot leader fell into a sullen silence. He didn't know what to tell Magnus. He didn't know where to start, if he did. He half-expected Magnus to chew him out for his behavior.

Magnus' expression remained impassive, but not insensitive. "You once told me you believed if she was out there, alone, Rusti would most likely do anything she can to find her way here."

Prime nodded. "Yes."

"You know her better then any one in Fort Max. I suggest we look for her out on the main roads. If I were in her position, someone who's had to use her head in Dinobot football, you have to think of ways to avoid getting stepped on."

Optimus pondered Magnus' words carefully. Then it dawned on him what Magnus was saying. It was brilliant! Optimus had been so busy worrying over her, he hadn't stopped to think how she herself might be thinking. She would purposefully dodge the very people who might try to help her, fearful they'd be helping her the wrong way! He stared at Magnus; a new form of respect crossed his face plates.

But two days later, they still heard and saw nothing. Optimus secretly began to think they might have lost her for good. He even slipped into her room the night of the second day and noted with a tinge of amusement that she didn't bother to make her bed before she left little over two weeks ago.

A life time ago, he thought dismally. He wondered if this was how Rodimus felt after he himself had died and they had to pack up his quarters. Not just his, but Prowl's and Ironhide's, Brawn's and Ratchet's. You'd have to fold up your soul with each piece. You tuck it down deep inside so that it doesn't surface unless you want it to. Optimus remembered going through the same horrible process when Spike and Carly were killed. He'd never see them again. It would seem the Autobot's presence on the Earth had cursed the Witwicky family. They were as much a part of the Transformer's war as every Autobot ever created. And that curse extended right down to Spike's grandchildren.

Perhaps Delphra was right. Perhaps Rusti should have stayed with her family. At least, she'd be alive. But, Optimus digressed, that wasn't true, either. The circumstances in this case wasn't a battle between the Autobots and Decepticons. It wasn't between the Autobots and the Quintessons. It was between the city and a group of terrorists. It was the Witwicky family fighting against itself. One wanting something the other did not approve of and that went for Brian as well as Rusti.

He searched again, silently calling her name, Reaching out with his soul to touch the laughter of another and the response was the same empty darkness he had felt in the last several weeks.

Nothing.

And he missed her. If it was death, it was a cold death because she was separated from anyone who cared about her. If it was intentional, that she ran away from everyone and everything, it was a cruel and cold-hearted thing to do.

He found her Raggedy Ann and sat down on the floor before her untidy bed and held the doll in the cup of his hand. Where the Pit was she?

Someone cleared their throat at the doorway and Rodimus entered when Prime shot him a surprised, if somewhat bashful look. He closed his hand around the doll, not really willing to share what he was doing.

Rodimus entered slowly, the door closing behind him. He sat at the foot of the bed with some difficulty. The wounds round his thorax were still closing, making movement a little awkward. Rodimus smiled at the messy bed. "Guess we'll have to make sure she remembers to make it in the morning, hu?"

Optimus could not say anything. He feared he'd say something . . . But now the pretense of leadership would not save him this time. The fear held him too firmly, the sadness too overwhelming and all that pent-up heartsickness came flooding out. He looked away, unable to communicate at all.

Rodimus watched him with growing sadness. He himself had lost friends. He had wandered from place to place before his life here on Earth. There were no guarantees in life. That was the cruelness of reality. But there seemed to be something more than companionship, than friendship where Rusti was concerned. She was a gentle child and rekindled something in the Senior Prime that had long since died. And they both knew without a doubt that she loved her life here in Fort Max. She wanted to stay. Perhaps in some small way, they gave her something back, though Rodimus could not figure what a couple of Autobot leaders could provide for a child, really. They never ignored her, that's for sure. But they were constantly busy and still, she never complained.

Rodimus finally sighed and took to his feet. "I'm going out on watch for a while, Op. I'll call you if I see anything."

Optimus silently nodded, and remained just as motionless long after Roddi left the room. He really needed the silence and was grateful Rodimus didn't try to cheer him up with impractical hopeful thoughts. He sat hunched over and stared at the doll for a long time, counting the little white hearts on the red dress, counting the strands of red yarn making the doll's synthetic hair. It was all he had, a precious remnant of someone he cherished.

And he wept inside.

Where the hell was she?

He fingered the doll, the dead silence of the room matching the dead sadness of his heart.

Where, where, where?

His systems began to shut down on their own one at a time. It would be nice to be able to rest, just for a little bit. And just as his mind was about to dip into darkness, a Coldness touched him.

Optimus' optics flickered on as his senses came on line. The Coldness was not his imagination.

It was an old Coldness. Something ancient and forgotten by most Autobot historians. Records kept of this forgotten Evil were stashed deep under political red tape and diaries written of it were secretly stored in the asteroid Storage unit, long since destroyed by Cyclonus.

It was a wraith, actually. Something Optimus Prime had not fought since . . . since a time before he was publicly recognized as a Prime. The Cyberwraith had been devoured by the Matrix once before as it could not be destroyed, even by the creation powers of the Autobot's sacred artifact. But, why would he suddenly sense its presence again? Even if it meganiums had passed since he felt its chaotic spark, there was no mistaking its presence.

Prime stood and laid a hand on his chest. He remembered it; how it ripped him to pieces. You do not forget its icy touch. You do not forgive the violations, the feeling of its mouth as it devoured you a piece at a time, its fingers as they worked on kneading your body to mush.

But why was he sensing it now?

Prime abandoned the room, not realizing he dropped the doll. He left the building, paying no attention to people as they greeted him along the way. They merely shook their heads, figuring he just had too much on his mind.

Optimus transformed once outside the building and roamed about the streets and courtyards, trying to pinpoint the location of the presence. But after roaming aimlessly for half an hour, he gave up and transformed back to robot mode, confused and befuddled over the sensation. This just didn't fit. How could something imprisoned in the Matrix escape? What kind of doorway did it find?

Prime finally lifted his optics and scanned the city and surrounding buildings. Then he Scanned the city and surrounding buildings.

Nothing?

Nothing?

"Roddi?" He called through interpersonal comline.

"Right here." Rodimus replied from the highway between Fort Max and Central City.

"Have you felt anything odd today? A . . . an unclean spark?"

Pause. "What? Hey, is this Optimus Prime I'm talking to?"

"Rodimus, I'm receiving . . ." It touched him again then disappeared. "Damnit." He muttered to himself. "No. This isn't right. There's . . . there's something wrong here."

"Okay." Rodimus promised hurriedly. "I'm coming back right now."

Prime didn't answer. He walked aimlessly about. He tried to pick up traces, anything that resembled the source of the disturbance. But finally he patched into Max and asked the city itself if it had seen, heard or felt anything.

"NEGATIVE." Max softly answered.

"That's fine, Max. Thank you." Prime shook his head and supposed he could have imagined it all.

Could have.

He couldn't be sure. Optimus leaned against the wall of a nearby building and thought long and hard. If . . . Rusti had been injected with 'joys' again, it would explain why they could not contact her. It could explain how the Doppelganger members died in the school. Could it be, indeed, that the 'joys' had stirred something in her, awakened something that should not have been . . . and here Optimus dared one more thought, something nearly unbelievable. Could it be that Rusti really did have a connection to the Matrix? Was that were possible for Humans? And if so, could something of the past manage to slip out through her?

But the whole idea seemed so terribly far-fetched. What Human would have a connection to the Matrix? It would not recognize Humans as life forms, surely! It was designed specifically for Autobots; even a Decepticon could not use it without being poisoned.

Nevertheless, the nagging feeling would not lighten and it drove the Senior Prime to take another walk around the square. That turned into a trip to the Southeastern gate where Rodimus checked in, jotted down his report on a digipad, and approached him in car mode then transformed.

"Rough night?" He joked.

Prime stared at him, then suddenly realized the joke really wasn't that funny. He had spent all night looking for something more elusive than his own sleep patterns. "It's here, Roddi." He swore. "I know it."

Rodimus folded his arms. "Okay. What is it?"

Prime paused for a moment then gazed out at the eastern skyline. "An ancient creature that nearly destroyed Cybertron at the time I was recognized as the leader of the Autobots. A cyberwraith. It took on the shape of thousands of creatures calling themselves Multiformers and they attached themselves to the planet itself, devouring Cybertron's life force as they grew in number." Prime gazed at him, now, a light touched his optics. "The Matrix was unable to kill it, because it had no physical substance. So, it was devoured."

Rodimus looked very perplexed. "Devoured? You mean the Matrix ate it?"

"No. The Matrix imprisoned the cyberwraith within itself. If the cyberwraith escapes and devours again, we could have a very serious problem . . . on . . . our . . . hands." His voice trailed off as he turned northward toward the EDC district. Without another word to Roddi, he transformed and raced away.

Rodimus merely followed suit, figuring Optimus knew what he was doing.

No sooner had Prime arrived at the R&D building there, than Max had informed him of two life forms approaching the outer barrier.

But Optimus really didn't need any information; he could feel it. He felt the malignant craving. He raced out the city, heedless of other people's stares and dropped off the backside of the third storage unit. And there, at the edge of the grassy clearing stood what looked like a dead and blackened tree stump. Rusti was on her knees, facing the city. Her eyes were open, but glazed over with shock. The stump's branches were wrapped all around her like a spider's web, holding her helpless.

Optimus only had to take one step and the stump dropped its first victim and its branches reached back toward the forest. Its darkness imploded and disappeared.

Prime fell to his knees before the little figure. It took everything she had to get back home. She was torn up and bleeding and the sight of her pierced his own soul. He scanned her and found nothing. He tried to hear, but nothing sounded. Not breath, not life.

She came too close to just die! "Russstiii?" His own voice betrayed his feelings. "Rus-s-s-tii?" He called again. "Sweet . . .heart?" Oh, he just wished she would say something, move something, whisper, or Whisper! But there came nothing, absolutely nothing. "Russtii?" He called. Oh, how his own voice sounded so pitiful, so sad in his own audios! "Come on, Sweetheart, stay with me." He begged.

Rodimus joined him in another minute, landing hard on the grass. "They're coming." He reported, meaning the emergency crew. But he stopped dead short and laid his hand on his chest. "Oh, Primus!" He whispered.

Optimus ignored an interpersonal communication call from Blaster. "I'm . . . not registering anything, Roddi." He passed his hand over her, scanning again and again,. "I-If I pick her up, I might injure her further."

Rodimus said nothing, silently answering Blaster's call. A mixture of pain and anger kindled in his optics. "Prime," he said softly, "Blaster says her family just arrived."

"No!" Optimus clenched his fist and stared urgently at Rodimus. It was the last thing he wanted to hear! Prime didn't want to face Daniel right now. "We just found her!" He couldn't help it; he covered his face with his hands, struggling to control the anger and fear that nearly overwhelmed him. Then Rodimus laid a hand on his shoulder. It brought him out of his inconsolable state and Prime forced himself to swallow his internal battle.

"Look," Rodimus said gently, "I'll go and entertain them. You take her in." He watched as Optimus hesitated, torn between wanting to care for her, and fearful of injuring her further.

But Optimus finally managed to get his fear under control and as gently as he could, he cuddled her tiny cold body close to his chest. She was drenched, scratched head to foot. An old flimsy dressing barely covered an ugly cut on her left arm and a fresher naked cut sliced her forehead. Her right arm had an even uglier wound just below her shoulder and another of the same size at her ankle. He had cared for her all her life and seeing her like this just ripped him up inside. Why? Why would somebody hurt someone so sweet? She'd do nothing to hurt another soul! Sadness ate him up inside. When was the last time he told her that he loved her?

Grievously, Optimus could not remember when he told her how much she meant to him and now he could loose her.

Rodimus followed him into the EDC R&D complex then gave them a final glance before he transformed and headed for Central Command.

People parted way as Optimus carried his treasure to the second level of medical and silently asked Max to call Dr. Hanson.

He entered a dark and empty room and tried to keep his own heart from breaking when he realized Rusti still hadn't made a move. Not a whisper. Not a breath. He laid her on the med table and searched for something with which to clean her little face. He found towels and a pile of white wash cloths, a package of alcohol-soaked towelettes . . . No, no, no. Optimus wanted something gentle, something that wouldn't tear her skin or burn her wounds. He found a jar of cotton.

Perfect. He attained one little swab, soaking it with warm water. He turned and gently dabbed the cuts and scratches marking her face. Blood soaked the cotton too quickly and he had to get another piece. He turned away, not seeing that she finally took a real breath.

He returned and dabbed her face again, the warm water gently washed away dirt, revealing the cuts and scratches more clearly.

He trailed the cotton over her arms, red with cold, scratches and bruises. He almost asked her out loud where she had been to get so badly cut up. But Optimus held his silence and changed cotton again. He didn't see or hear Hanson step into the dark and silent room.

He did see Rusti blink.

"Rusti!" He whispered. "Rusti!"

Hanson smiled and stepped closer. "I think you'd better let a pro do that job, Prime." She intervened.

Optimus visibly flinched and dropped the cotton like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Under other circumstances, the sight might have been funny. But Hanson by now was aware how self-conscious the Autobot leader was and she maintained her poise.

Optimus moved around and sat against the wall by the bed, legs up, arms across his knees. Hanson gave the girl a cursory glance then plucked a hand scanner from her coat pocket and ran it over Rusti twice. She frowned and glanced at the ceiling.

"Max, would you contact Sarah? Tell her Rusti's arrived?" She turned to Optimus and nervously wet her lips. "Prime-"

"I am not leaving her." He growled before Hanson could order him out.

She blinked, surprised at his adamancy. "Oohhkay. Well, you can make yourself useful by staying out of my way and . . . take off her shoes and jeans."

They carefully undressed her-or rather, Optimus undressed her. Hanson supervised while he tenderly washed her down and put a fresh gown over the girl's cold lifeless body. Hanson bound the fresh wounds and cut off the old dressing binding the needle-wound on Rusti's left arm. Then Prime lightly covered her with a white blanket.

Hanson herself prepared a small blue laser and jotted down several notes on a clipboard. "You know, Optimus, I was just wondering how you're going to handle her parents once they find out where she is. Daniel won't be very happy about the fact that she ran away. And less so that she's here."

Optimus was quiet for a long moment and Hanson paused in her preparations and gazed at him. He was concentrating on the little girl, perhaps carefully choosing his words. "I almost lost her to them, Doctor. How else am I to handle it?"

"They could sue you for child endangerment."

"How's that?"

"The fact that they can say you tempted Rusti into leaving her home and safety in order to get to you." Hanson measured the laser with her eyes then gazed back at the Autobot. "They can get away with that perspective, you know." She turned to Rusti and slowly passed the blue light back and forth over the ugly cut on Rusti's forehead.

She didn't see Prime's optics flash. Nor did she wonder why he suddenly fell silent. She paused and smiled a greeting at the girl who opened her sea-grey eyes. "Well, you certainly are of all things, a survivor, Miss Witwicky!"

Rusti obviously could not smile with dry and split lips. Then she jerked under Hanson's grip. "Optimus!" She whispered as loudly as her worn body allowed.

"Sssshhhhhh . . ." Optimus mentally kissed her and wished he could rock her to sleep right now. But it would have to wait.

Dr. Hanson gently pushed the girl back down. "Hon, you'll have to lie still for this to work."

The distraught girl lamented, weeping over something Hanson could not fully understand. Well, she might have if Rusti had spoken in English. Hanson blinked, surprised the young girl could speak Autobot so fluently when just about every Human who attempted to learn the language failed. The doctor gazed at Prime whose whole world right now did not include anyone but the girl.

Optimus leaned over and very carefully slipped his finger under her right hand, trying not to lift it too much. "Shalatta." He practically breathed it and Hanson swore up and down that was Rusti's name in Prime's own language. "S'datat t'mootant. Kedakt p'snasis sleedits s'kadists t'nattadat kendavadzh."

Rusti mourned, her voice carrying the tone of physical and emotional grief. Hanson wished she could do more for the girl other than heal her physical wounds, but it was all she had a gift for. The rest would have to come from those who cared most about her.

"Ssssshhhhh . . ." Optimus touched her soul, with as gentle and warm a radiance as the weak spring sun breaking through the cold Oregon rains. Rusti calmed, taking in the kind touches of his love and trusting he would let nothing hurt her now.

Hanson sighed and wondered what had just transpired between them. She turned back to her work. "She's not going to recover in a day." She advised quietly.

Prime really wasn't very concerned about anything outside this moment. Something he privately cherished had come back to him and nothing else really mattered. "Rodimus has already informed Tolomsky." He answered Hanson. Not that he really knew whether or not Rodimus did, but he knew it was a safe assumption, because it was the very thing he would have done himself. And both Primes thought alike. Optimus never took his optics off the girl. Suddenly he felt very tired but completely unwilling to leave her.

"What about her family?" Hanson pressed again.

"No." The Senior Prime almost growled. "I have temporary custody right now."


	10. Chapter 10

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 10

Some parts of town stood as still as a mortuary. Deserted, wrecked by bombs and taped off by emergency crews, the buildings stood as testament to a group of cultists who had lost all sense of conscious. Strange ghosts inhabited the whole area; ghosts of both the living and the dead.

Rusti ran wild with and against the breeze that blew through and around the empty streets. It ran through her hair, it teased her, dancing around her body. She saw it all in flashes of blurred images. She felt and heard everything around her and everything that wasn't. Her consciousness would not be still! It ran mad, trying to walk calmly in the circumference of a twister.

Her mind would not be still. It jerked from one thought to another, fleeting and so terribly loud! Rusti's breath fluttered to the pace of her heart. Her eyes would catch everything that moved, from the wave of early spring leaves, to just the toss of a piece of paper, shoved and pushed by the afternoon breeze. The girl didn't know how long she had been running. She escaped the moment the second bomb hit the B-wing, leaving Brian in agony, though she couldn't remember exactly what she did to him. She couldn't exactly remember much of anything, really. Her own memories would not heed her bidding; they were as darting as the events and voices racing through her over-exerted mind.

She paused at an abandoned cookie shop and covered her ears. "SHUT UP!" She screamed. But her mind would not be silenced. Images flashed rampant, voices came and left in a frenzy of echoes, making no sense at all. She slammed her head against the window on her left.

No silence. No rest. She spun and slammed her hands against the window. "Shut up!" She raged. "Shut up!" She spun about again and slammed her back against the invulnerable glass pane and slid to the ground, frustrated. Her nerves stood right on their tippy-toes and she dug her nails into her scalp. It was like being on the worst of java rushes. She couldn't run far enough, hard enough, long enough. She jumped to her feet and ran away again, her back pack bouncing from side to side.

But all the running in the world would not quiet her heart, would not still her mind and she kept running, dashing from one block to the next, hiking under the huge buttressed overpasses in the city, daring any of the creepy locals to try attack her.

It might have been close to dinner time when she finally thought a little food might help ease the stress of the overdose. She stopped at a gas station, digging out change, which thank Primus she was smart enough to put in her pockets. Her whole body shook like the pine leaves in a windstorm.

What did she want? There were hotdogs, but she feared indigestion. Nachos? That had merit. Popcorn? Not enough. There were sandwiches she could warm up or eat cold. She had enough to buy a descent amount of food. But she wanted to keep it light, too. Just in case she might need the extra change later. The way her head was moving, it would be a wonder if she made it to Fort Max at all. Finally Rusti decided on a box of Nachos, two small bags of smoked almonds, two of cashews and a pint of orange juice.

She waited in line for the next bozo to finish and she laid her groceries over the counter. The man . . . the beast? It was a beast or some guy in a really bad costume, turned to her.

"That it for ya, kid?"

"Yeah." She answered quietly. She dug into her pocket.

"It'll be $14.50, kid."

"'kay." Rusti pulled out a twenty and handed it to him.

"Ya not sellin' yourself, are ya, kid?" The beast asked.

"I'm hallucinating this whole thing." She said to herself. "I gotta be."

"What'd you do t' your arm?"

"My brother spiked me hard. Can I get a bag?"

"Tell your folks?"

"What? They think I did it. They don't think I'm as good as Brian." She took the bag and stared at the beast, watching while he grew a second head on his shoulder right in front of her eyes. Rusti shook her head. "Hope I don't start to see double here soon. You don't know where there's a shelter, do you, Sir?"

"Sir?" Both heads arched back in surprise. "You no druggie, kid. And there's no shelters round here. Better find the hospital."

"No. I already destroyed one of their rooms last time I was there. Thanks, anyway." She dragged her purchase off the counter and left the mini mart. Sadness suddenly enfolded about her. Rusti realized she was completely on her own. There was no one to protect her, to make sure she was okay. The girl crossed the empty windows of a vacant store. How very sad to be so alone. Something could happen to her and no one would know.

Perhaps she should call her folks, tell them where she was. But then, she'd have to listen to their lecture about running away and then they would punish her and . . . and . . . Rusti

didn't think all that agony was worth going home. On the other hand, she knew she needed a place to stay the night. It was May and in the mountains, it was still cold at night.

Distantly another thought occured to her. Why hadn't she thought about just taking the bus to Fort Max? Where was her head? She had the money and the freedom. What an idiot! Here she had been running from the school down Primus knows how many streets, and not once did it occur to her that she should take the bus and go Home!

Now Rusti really glanced around the area. There were three overpasses to her right. To the left stood many a deserted house or business building. About a block away stood police barricades blocking the road from cars.

That drew Rusti's attention and she decided to go there, take a look at why the area was tapped off. The road sign read B Street. The other sign had been rubbed off on purpose. She slowly approached the wreckage, taking only a momentary glance at the No-trespassing signs and the prohibition signs. But there was no one around to keep her out. She crossed the line, feeling a little strange about disobeying a rule set in writing. Rusti picked her way carefully around the rubble, taking some note how huge slabs of concrete and metal were neatly staked. It had to be one of the gestalts that did that. She peered around, wondering what could have caused such a terrible mess.

And then a face popped right in front of her and Rusti screamed with a start. Then she realized it was just a painting-a really good painting. It looked like a madman, dancing with strings attached like a puppet. It had three bulging eyes and a freakish smile. There was writing under it, but Rusti could not read it. She hated the image. She felt naked in front of it and she turned away, still feeling the three eyes staring at her.

She glanced back over her shoulder, her sea-grey eyes scrutinizing the lousy piece of art.

The three eyes blinked. The smile broadened and the thing, the painting, stared right at her and tilted its head. Fear seized her and rather than run away, she attacked it, sweeping up whatever stones or clumps of cement she could find and smashed them ruthlessly at the three-eyed puppet. It still seemed to laugh at her and Rusti attacked it personally, scratching it with her nails.

"STOP LOOKING AT ME!" She screamed.

"Hey!"

She turned and one of the giant slabs of cement grew a face and snarled at her. "You're not supposed to be here, Little Girl."

"That's right." Another slab of grey marble agreed. "You're supposed to be home, doing homework."

"Shut up." She spat. "You're not my boss."

"They'll kill you!" The marble warned. "Aunt Delphra will make you do all kinds of things you hate. Your dad-"

"Don't you dare mention him!" Rusti pointed at it. "Don't you dare mention him! I'll turn you into something you'll not like!"

"He's gonna eat you up, Little Girl." The Marble continued. "He's gonna tie you up and set you in a roasting pan and bake you nicely done and then he'll eat you up and you'll be all gone and dead."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" She screamed. "SHUT UP! HE DOESN'T KNOW WHERE I'M AT! NOBODY KNOWS WHERE I'M AT!" And her own words hit her hard. She was utterly alone, at the mercy of whatever predator might be lurking about in town. She fell to her knees, crying. "Nobody knows where I'm at!" She covered her face, frightened and frustrated.

"Oh, good gawd." The first cement slab rolled its eyes and looked elsewhere.

The marble slab moaned in disgust. "Nothing's worse than a cry-baby." Rusti stopped crying, sniffing now and she wiped her face.

The faces on the slabs had disappeared and the painting stood marred and scratched from her attacks. Rusti's pulse ran high. That was a really bad hallucination and she wondered how many more she would have, or was she walking in a perpetual virtual reality? She knew nothing about 'joys', it was so recent, that the school had no information, either.

Pain exploded in her head and Rusti crumpled, lying as still as possible. Her eyes closed by themselves and she plunged into an unholy darkness.

There were two Autobots. One Rusti instantly recognized as Optimus, the other, a femme, she did not. The femme was kinda pretty. She had peach-colored paint that shimmered blood red when the light hit it just right. She had a gentle manner about her, unassuming. But the smile, the smile was just like Rusti's own smile.

"One moment in time." The femme said softly. "One decision in a point of time affected the whole continuity and it affected not only the future, but the past."

"The past is proven a bitter thing." Optimus answered. It didn't sound like, him, really. It didn't sound like something he would say. "It doesn't matter how far I have tried to run from it, it keeps coming back."

"It keeps coming back."

And he looked right at the girl.

Here we go again, Rusti thought dismally.

One great war.

The destruction of a city made of crystal.

An abomination made by the hands of a traitor.

A Decepticon turncoat becomes an Autobot leader.

And an Autobot leader is assassinated by his own people.

And the time lines changed.

And the time lines changed.

Rusti found herself cussing. The confusion of events, the memories that were not hers came in fragments, just like the fragments of window glass floating down the hall of a school that now no longer stood.

GET.

ME.

OUT OF THIS.

She didn't need to breathe. Not this time. She opened her eyes and rolled over on her back. Cold had descended the world and she was out in it. The girl still lay where she had fallen and from the appearance of things, the darkness and the street lights casting shadows in every nook and corner, she had been out for quite some time. She moaned and slowly sat up, the terrible migraine now not more than a dull ache. But the buildings and the trees and the slabs of cement and the telephone poles and the road signs all stared at her with creepy eyes and ugly frowns.

"Alright!" She snapped at them. "I'm leaving! Now shut up!"

The sidewalks lay so eerily silent, deserted and forgotten in the dark of night. Cops and military officers patrolled the town on foot, by horse or by car. Dogs accompanied every other unit, trained to sniff out anything from drugs to weapons.

Rusti watched them go by from the second floor of a deserted and looted building. She held her breath, hoping the dogs would not alert them to her. They would take her home to her folks and she would be punished for sure.

She held her breath, waiting. She didn't want to spend the night here, on the cold floor of this . . . whatever it was. Most of the stuff had been cleared out of the building, but judging from the pictures on the walls, she assumed it had to be an insurance agency. There was one desk. A broken leg forced it to tilt to one side, standing like a wounded thing in the lonely silence. Rusti frowned. There was no light except what came in from the nearby street light. It was cold and she wished she could have brought a blanket. She tried to situate the desk so that it at least sheltered her a little better from the cold, but she was only nine years old and she didn't have her exo-suit and that meant she was just a puny little thing, unable to lift a metal object that really was about the same size as she.

Rusti sighed resignedly and sat under it, peeling her back pack off. She unzipped it and broke open her precious rations. If nothing else, she was able to eat.

Voices.

Whisperings.

Overlapping time lines that ran rampant like a car speeding without brakes.

Voices.

Louder.

Reality #1: The Constructicons were built in caverns on Earth by Megatron.

Reality #2: The Constructicons might have been Autobots at one time, converted by an abomination known as the Robo Smasher.

Reality #3: The Constructicons existed before the birth of Megatron.

The voices, overlapping and repeating, rising and lowering like the ocean waves at high tide, kept whispering, sometimes louder, sometimes softly. But they kept at it and at it until Rusti's eyes shot right open and her pulse raced with the sound of the voices.

"Autobots! Transform-"

"The Autobots will never listen to you again."

"You have killed your own people."

"I negotiated for peace."

"You have betrayed life for peace. That's not freedom."

"It was the safe thing to do."

"Coward!"

And that overlapped and overlapped, repeating and shifting, the insane whisperings came and rebounded from one end of the room to the other in a yo-yo effect. Rusti whimpered in frustration and crawled out from under the desk. She was on the verge of tears.

"Stop!" She whined. "Stop! Leave me alone!"

All around the walls pressed toward her, faces pushed out, their lips speaking with whisperings, some of them even shouting, their expressions angry, disgusted that she did not respond to them in kind.

The girl fell to her knees, her body shaking. She bowed over and covered her face. She tried to cover her ears but the voices kept whispering, one atop the other. Rusti finally took to her feet and ran out the room, finding faces and voices all around the hallway, now they came up through the carpet, too and their sounds followed her out the door.

Her feet pounded the sidewalk as she ran. The faces rose up from the pavement, all of them staring accusingly at her; Human and Transformer alike. Were they the Dead? Were they ghosts? Victims of long ago? Were they memories long since buried deep in the Matrix? She didn't know.

Rusti just ran, the cold night air froze her arms, leaving her hair cold, her legs weak with exhaustion and all around, everywhere she went, the buildings, the cars, the trees all stared at her with mean expressions. She tried to ignore them entirely.

Down one block. Left. Down two blocks. She found a small café, but couldn't decide whether she should stop in and ask for help or not. She peeked in and found two praying mantis attending the counter, one served a half-dog/half lizard creature a bowl of soup.

Rusti backed from that and ran on. The voices were bound to catch up with her at any moment, anyway.

As if on cue, a hand protruded from the next building and tried to grab her. It missed when she screamed and ducked. And she ran on, trying to get away.

And she ran and ran, running from the city that would not be still, running from voices that would not be quiet. She ran from a possible future chained to the room in her parent's house.

She did not know how long she ran, or where she ran to. She didn't even know when fatigue finally forced her to just stop. But sometime with the rising sun, Rusti woke, finding herself curled on an old ratted couch under the staircase in an alleyway. She shivered and wished for the millionth time she had a blanket.

Footsteps entered her ears and the girl froze. If it was a bad guy, there would be no way she could defend herself in this state. She was exhausted beyond thought.

A K-9 patrol unit pattered down the sidewalk. The two officers and their dog crossed the alley. The dog paused a moment, staring down the ally's darkness. Back doors belonging to individual shops stood locked. The ground was littered from neglect, an ancient Christmas advertising poster colored the back wall belonging to a Radio Shack at the end. The dog kept staring, damn certain something was there. But it couldn't be sure because whatever it sniffed, was not Human. The Shepard hesitated a moment longer, indecisive. Taking on alien life forms that smelt like this was not something for which the dog was trained. The animal whined, apologetic, shook his head and led his companion onward.

The whine reminded Rusti of something else, some event that took place a whole life ago. The screams of the two gang members tortured by the Matrix-they whined and begged so pitifully. She shuddered, recalling the sounds, as though they were pierced through their souls. Their punishment had to be something far greater, far worse than anything she could think of. She remembered the deafening explosions. And then, Brian.

Her body shook uncontrollably. Her skin had turned a nasty pasty color, drenched with perspiration. Whatever had happened, left her cold and completely isolated. No one would ever find her, that much was certain. And if her mother, father or Aunt Delphra came, she'd give them a taste of what she had just gotten. That's all it would take, just one sound of their voices.

As for Brian, he was a deadman. Short of watching him fly away from her, she had no idea what happened to him. Flashes of adult bodies encased in armor were thrown against the walls, their frail forms burnt to a crisp. Screams from the school victims kept circling through her mind like a bad song.

Guilt sickened her and she did not know how to deal with it. They were all going to severely punish her-even Op and Roddi would be terribly angry.

Look at what she had done.

She lay there on the filthy couch, completely miserable. After several hours, or what seemed to be, the sun tried to filter through oncoming clouds, finally losing to the inevitable storm heading in.

Rusti now remembered she had planned to take a bus to Fort Max. But for some reason, she just hadn't gotten that far yet.

Her head throbbed. She was just too sick to do anything right now. So she closed her eyes and tried to sleep it all off.

Hallucinatory . . . hallucin . . .atory . . .hallucinations . . . causes hallucinations.

I'm going to have hallucinations.

Rusti's optics . . . eyes opened. 'I'm going to have hallucinations.' she thought to herself. Whatever state her mind was in, however long she had just lain there, she knew not. It was cold, though and she was hungry. Rusti slowly pulled her back pack off and held it to open the top when a set of eyes opened up on the back pack and stared at her. She tried to ignore them and found her orange juice and nuts.

There was no telling how badly she'd hallucinate. Nor was there any telling how long it would last. If she could just stay right where she was, she could probably ride it out. But it was very hard to tell because she did not know how much of it Brian gave her.

She managed to eat the disgusting food and was amazed she could keep it down. It suddenly dawned on her why she had such a problem with food; everything tasted bad. Her mother's cooking didn't help. But everything just tasted bad.

_organic crap,_ something said in her.

"I know." She answered out loud.

_and what are you going to do now? _

"To find . . .rescue." She answered. She stood and stumbled, but caught herself against the stairs. So clumsy! What a naughty thing!

Naughty? She laughed inwardly. That was a silly word! Her eyes scanned the brick building to her right and a naked lady stood bound against it, her arms outstretched. Her hair was caked in blood and mud. Her eyes wide with shock and pain. Her dark skin was blemished with cuts and abrasions. "They're lookin' for you, luv." She warned.

A rape victim, Rusti thought to herself. The lady's psychic footprints are all over the alleyway. "What do I do?" She asked. "If the police find me, they'll take me back to Mom's and Dad's house and I want to go Home. I can't seem to get to the bus. I can't seem to find a bus stop. I don't know what to do!"

"There's a gang that carouses the area. Hackers, mostly. They're harmless. They might give you a ride."

Rusti nodded and gazed at the staircase which had turned into a huge white kitty. It stared dumbly at her then turned away, going back to sleep. The girl dared about three steps forward and found her balance was still not what it should be. She swayed one way then another, catching her weight on the brick wall of the building that sheltered her.

"Hey, no drunks here." The building complained.

"Sorry." She muttered clumsily.

Rusti made her way to the sidewalk as the distant rumble and screech of a car echoed. Rusti winced as a lion of a car roared up, zooming past her. A few demons and a pair of imps and a princess in tight jeans yahooed and caroused as though they owned the empty streets.

Rusti shook her head. It always amazed her how some people could have so much fun breaking rules and getting clean away with it. If she ever tried something like that, she knew she'd get caught instantly. She just couldn't get away with anything.

The car swung right back around and aimed toward her again. Rusti decided it best to move on and find a place to hide. Anyone who sees demons and imps in a car should not be out in public.

The princess stood up in the convertible and pointed at Rusti. Reluctantly, the driver pulled up to the sidewalk and revved the engine impatiently.

Rusti backed away. The demons all jeered and joked, some of the things they said were a bit obscene. She turned and walked away as fast as she could.

The princess leapt out the car and carefully approached Rusti.

"Hey, little pet." The princess called sweetly. "What are you doing out here all alone?"

Rusti gazed at the car as one demon, laughed, cracking really bad jokes. He (it) waved his tail at her. She looked back to the princess and realized she had lovely light blond hair. "I'm trying to get to Optimus." The girl replied simply. The lion of a car roared lazily in the late May afternoon. It made her nervous.

"Do you have a place to stay the night?"

Rusti glanced at the building but it frowned at her. "Well, the building won't let me stay. He says he doesn't like drunks. But I'm not drunk. I think he's just cranky."

The nineteen year-old squatted down before the child and brushed aside her blood-red hair. She was a sweet little girl, reminding the young woman of a family she once had. Her eyes fell onto the girl's left arm and traced the blood trickling there. The little girl's face was bright pale, her eyes fully dilated, her lips swollen. Sure symptoms of a 'joys' overdose. And the wound seemed to indicate someone else gave it to her.

Rusti stared at the mark on her arm and watched as millions of little people scampered out her body. She hadn't seen it there before. Why? And why did she keep forgetting to get on the bus and go to Fort Max? She was embarrassed by the sight of little people running out of her body and she tried to wipe them off.

"Are you hungry?" The princess asked.

"I had some orange juice and something . . . nuts."

"Well, I'll tell you what, you come with us and I'll make you some soup. Do you like cream of chicken?"

Rusti smiled, grateful for some real food. She nodded and she and the princess glanced around when one of the demons laughed its head off for no apparent reason. The princess sighed and shook her head. She swept Rusti off the ground and returned to the lion-car.

"Awe, man!" The driver-imp moaned. "You collectin' pets again, Rhi-Ariana?"

"It's my right." The princess answered smartly. Besides, nobody should be out here alone at night. Those things come out and the little one here can't defend herself."

"Boy, are you a sucker for hard cases!" Another demon sneered.

"I hang around you idiots, don't I?" She asked. She got in the car, holding Rusti close and closed the door.

The driver revved the engine high and cackled with laughter, as though suddenly possessed. And they shot down the street.

They drove into the seedy part of town where a mall stood dark and empty. There were many such buildings in this side of the city. This was Central City's memorial to the destruction of the Decepticons. This was where the great meteor 'Meetorini-Chiparooni' landed. Echoes of a terrible battle between Optimus Prime and the Dinobots vibrated against the walls. The Dinobot's murder-lust left psychic footprints here.

A dead factory stood here. Cold steadfast walls marked by laser burns and graffiti stood against the cold. This was where humans were enslaved by the Decepticons. Ninety-four people died during Megatron's reign of terror that year. Berger nearly lost his life. Many battles had taken place in this part of town; many.

The princess exited the car with her demon and imp friends who laughed and danced madly about the place. She lovingly gathered Rusti to her and followed them into the abandoned factory.

The building proved not so abandoned now. It was well-lit, but not blinding to Rusti's sensitive eyes. Many people lived here, tucked away in the nooks and crannies of the factory. Rusti's large eyes spotted computers, electronic equipment, automobiles and-geeze-energon cubes! There were other creatures besides imps and demons. She discovered a great ogre and three dwarves, one bearing a patch over his eye. There was a mean-looking pirate who bore tattoos on his arms. And a little further away stood several ancient mainframes. They remained unused except as walls to partition parts of the factory. Behind those were several mattresses and a couple of broken but still useable tables. Rhi-Ariana set her down in a large chair as a rotund Mexican woman approached, fists on her hips.

"Lord, Rhi. Seems you just gotta pick up another piece a' baggage ev'r time you guys go a'joy ridin'."

"Somebody's tried to kill her, Di." And she held Rusti's bleeding arm for the woman to examine.

Rusti felt ashamed and bowed her head.

"Oh gawd." And Di departed, returning the very next moment with a medic kit and a blanket. "You hungry, Sugar?" She asked as she set the articles on the table.

Rusti couldn't figure out why the woman looked like a lady bug. At least, she was sure it was a woman. "Yes." She whispered. "What do ladybugs eat?"

The two women stared at her, wondering why she asked.

"They don't eat little girls, that's for damn sure." Di muttered. She departed, leaving the two alone for the moment.

"Hon," Princess Rhi-Ariana called. She gracefully knelt beside Rusti. "I need to take your blouse off to clean this."

Rusti slipped off her back pack and just let it drop with a crunch. Then she simply stripped off her blouse and tossed it. The princess stared at her a moment before kindly smiling. Then her smile died and she guided Rusti to turn slightly and bend over. She gasped at the burn scars on the girl's backside. "Who did this to you?"

"My brother." She answered simply. "Do you think Brian's the devil?"

"He most certainly is!" Rhi-Ariana gasped. "When was the last time your dressing was changed?"

"I'm not wearing a dress." Rusti replied. Her answer didn't sound right in her ears. Rusti didn't feel she was mentally competent to answer to anything. She had broken out in a cold sweat and was so grateful when the ladybug came back with a bowl of soup. The meat and lumps jumped and laughed at her and stuck out their tongues. She picked up a spoon and shook her head. They were teasing her because she hadn't started eating yet. She scooped up a spoonful while Di and Rhi examined her back and discussed how to reapply a fresh dressing without hurting her too much. She really didn't pay any attention to them, however. She downed that first spoonful and felt the warmth trickled all the way down her chest. She sat up straight, enjoying that warmth to its fullest.

"I'm sorry, Hon." The princess apologized. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Nothing hurt. Rusti was just tired and hungry. But she decided she didn't need to say anything. She kept listening to the soup as they snarled and jeered at her. Sounds all over the factory told an entire community lived here. Scavengers, perhaps, but maybe not likely. Who these people were, she had not idea. Some of them seemed to bear trauma like little creatures mounted on their heads and shoulders. The walls of the factory bore the scars of death and slavery, but they were slowly changing with the colors of compassion and hope.

A centaur rode up. Her long dark hair draped over her breasts, her tail gracefully swayed one side to the other. "What's this, Rhi-Ariana?"

"A new pet." The princess answered.

"Oh, gawd. A bird, Rhi?"

"A baby bird." Rusti cheerfully replied in the princess' stead. "That's what Optimus and Roddi call me."

All three women stared at her in unison. The centaur approached a little more closely. "Rodimus Prime?" She asked.

"Yeah. Mom wouldn't let me go Home to him and Optimus any more. Then Brian got mad because I saw the puppet on the bus and he burned my back and I got mad and decided to run away." She sighed heavily, suddenly not just tired, but depressed. "But the dummies attacked the school today."

The centaur came up to the table and peered at Rusti's dilated eyes and examined her skin. "You've got it bad, sweety."

"They must've drugged her with 'joys'." Rhi suggested.

"They sure did."

Rhi gazed Rusti in the eyes, searching for something. "Hon, you say dummies, you mean the Doppelgangers?"

"They have twins that aren't real." Rusti finished her soup, rather proud that it did not upset her stomach.

Rhi drew her attention again. "You can tell the difference between the gang members and their twins?"

Rusti nodded. "The bus driver was one. He looks like a puppet."

"Lord, that's freaky." Di whispered.

They carefully bathed Rusti, dressed her arm and found other clothes for her. Rusti finally felt warm and they gave her a cup of hot tea before putting her to bed. Finally, a real bed! Rusti was never so grateful to sleep in a bed!

Her heart raced in the deadness of the night. Rusti woke with a start and found her body trembling, drenched in a cold sweat. Her heart palpitated the likes of which she had never felt. Her eyes were wide, her ears ringing. She glanced everywhere, finding most people had long since retired to their perspective sleeping places. Fear shook her head to foot, and she could not figure out why. She lay back down on her side and rolled up, blanket and all, but could not talk her body into returning to sleep. She shivered as though someone plunged her into a pool of ice.

A footfall made her heart leap into her chest and she held her breath.

Silence.

And so very loud! She tried not to breath, but her body demanded it. She strained to hear something, anything. But nothing came to her senses. Oh! She thought she would go mad with fear! Something was stalking her! She just knew it.

Oh, there, one step . . . two . . . Light, soft footfalls on the cement floor of the factory. Not human footfalls, not like those some of the demons made. But more horse-like clacks.

She heard somebody breathe. And they must have been horribly close because she even heard them move and oh, how still she told her body to lie! Stay silent! Don't breathe! Don't move!

And the moment dragged on and on and she thought for damn sure it would not pass! Maybe it was one of Brian's friends come to betray her. Maybe it was Brian himself, come to hunt her down! She wanted to hide her head between her hands, but just dared not move.

It moved. She was damn sure it moved. And her heart leapt into her mouth the moment something touched the blankets above her. She freaked and darted off the bed, falling on the floor and managed to tangle herself in the blanket. She untangled and leapt to her feet, grateful she had on her usual clothes instead of a nightgown.

In the blackness, she saw a shape. Nonhuman. It was not much taller than she. Its shape, while having arms, legs and a head, was irregular and when It moved (!) When It dared a step around the bed toward her, It swayed and tilted, as though burdened with an unholy weight and had to over-compensate.

And the way out factory was behind It. Rusti stepped back. The thought that it could be a really bad hallucination occurred to her. It might not be real at all. She dared another step back,

Gawd! It moved! It rounded the bed and swayed, right, left while it took its two large steps. And it made no noise.

"What are you?" She whispered. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"Yyyyooouuuuuuuuuuu." Its answer came in a soft haunting whisper and it dared another step.

"Stay away from me!" She whispered again. She took another step back, and thought about running, but feared It might outrun her. It dared another two steps and Rusti realized she had no choice. She walked away at first and when It started running, she squealed and ran, tripping once, but managed to maintain her balance. It chased her through the sleeping area into another work area where a light hung in the ceiling. Computers and cars stood everywhere in this section.

Light didn't matter to It. It kept coming right for her and she finally started looking for something to fight It, finding nothing.

Suddenly that part of the complex lit up like the day and four great archers, obviously Robin Hood's Merry men, stood around her, their bows and crossbows taut with readiness. Rusti spun around to face her attacker and found a dark shape, made entirely of robotic head fragments; mandibles and optic sensors and parts of the cranial chamber. Its own head was a mangled contortion of many faces fused into one. It reached for her with hooked hands and she screamed and one archer shot at It, the arrow piercing the air with the sound of a shot gun. The creature fell all to pieces, collapsing like so much glass.

Rusti shook so badly she fell herself, her eyes wide with fear and the worst of it came when the creature pulled itself back together, now reforming into a ghastly demonic form, its mouth filled with horrible sharp little teeth and it swept around, filling even the archers with terror. It shrieked and spat something in one language, then another, then something else in Autobot.

The archers fled, one actually dropping his weapon. Rusti swept up one of the archer's guns, not having the slightest idea what she was doing. It ambled for her and she screamed, for in Its mouth she saw the agony of souls, millions of them, longing for release from their pain and suffering. Over the meganiums, their souls were slowly digested by this creature.

She held the weapon tight, hoping she could shoot It. The dark shadow descended and lo, from her own body rose a shapeless ethereal form. It spread and shaped itself into a dragon's head and as the wraith came for her, the dragon opened its mouth and with a growl, devoured the wraith and it wailed in despair and the dragon snorted and disappeared.

Rusti collapsed, her breathing ragged, her heart racing so fast, she thought it would pound right out of her. Her skin grew cold and clammy and her eyes would not shrink back to their normal size.

Tiny bugs started to crawl over her skin and she tried to wipe them off. But more came and they covered her entirely and she tried to wipe them off her face. They got under her shirt. She moaned and whimpered unable to get them off and she scraped her face with her nails, but in so doing, her nails tore off, leaving her fingers bloody and the bugs crawled into her hair and she started to pull her hair out to get them off and the bugs shouted, mocking her efforts with little voices. An adult ran to her aid, but all he did was drench her with a bucket of blood and Rusti screamed.

And she screamed.

Rusti lay in an uncomfortable position. Her plugged nose forced her to breathe through her mouth and her body lay partly cold, partly warm. She tried to open her eyes, but something warm and wet blocked them. She lifted her hand . . . out of water. She moved to touch whatever was on her face and somebody's hand gently pushed her hand back underwater.

"Just relax, Sugar." Came a lady's voice.

A nasty salty taste filled her mouth. The water felt good and soft. Rusti really didn't remember the last time she just sat and soaked in a bathtub. Rusti smiled, but cuts and scratches on her face made it hurt to smile. "Optimus used to give me baths." Her voice came scratchy and whispery.

"Did he?" Came the rough feminine voice. "I can't picture an Autobot giving a girl a bath."

"Grandma Witwicky used to have a picture of me peeking in Optimus' office with no clothes on. She gave me a bath once and walked out and I went upstairs to see what Optimus was doing."

"It didn't bother you that you were naked?"

"I was four years old. Pretty stupid." She reached up to removed the cloth that covered her eyes, but the lady pushed her hand underwater again.

"Don't touch that, hon."

"What's wrong with me?"

"You had a . . . bad night. Just lie still."

It suddenly dawned on the girl that her fingers were all bandaged. "I had a horrible dream."

"You most certainly did."

"Was it because of the drug?"

"It must be. But I've never seen anybody suffer like that." She paused. "Well, almost. Now, you've been very quiet until now. What's your name?"

"Rusti."

"Rusti. It's cute."

She smiled. "Optimus gave it to me. He said I was infactious."

"You mean infectious."

"Yeah." She paused again while the woman drained the water and replaced it with fresher, warmer water. "Are you going to take me to the hospital?"

"Not if we can help it."

"Why?"

"Let's say they ain't gonna be happy to see us. With or without you. 'Sides, if we take you to the hospital, they're gonna wanna know who your real folks are an' if they find out, they're gonna hafta call 'em. I'm sure you don't wanna go back to your brother, right?"

Rusti frowned. It was true. She was a fugitive, now. "Right." She moaned. "But, all I wanted to do was go to Fort Max."

"Won't them at Fort Max jus' turn ya over to your folks?"

"No. Not after I tell them what's going on."

"Oh. You think they're gonna save you."

Perhaps the woman was right, and perhaps she was not. But Rusti couldn't believe the two Autobot leaders would just turn her over to her folks without a fight. Not this time. And even if they absolutely had to, she'd just run away again. Somebody had to hear her out! "Brian doesn't like me. He knows I can see them."

"See who?"

"The puppets."

The lady fell silent and she lifted the cloth from Rusti's eyes. Rusti opened her eyes and found the bathroom just a big blur. She turned to see who was tending her but all she found was a giant ladybug at the bathroom sink, rinsing the washcloth in hot water. She lathered it in medicinal cream and turned back. Rusti dared a glance at her fingers and indeed found them all wrapped in gauze. She had scrapes and scratches all up and down her arms and legs and on her left arm lay a huge ugly bruise and a nice deep cut where Brian had punctured her with the needle. Her whole arm was swollen. Rusti bent over and covered her face. She was a terrible mess.

"Oh, hon, you shoulda jes kept your eyes closed." The ladybug admonished softly.

"What happened?" She asked, "Who did this to me?"

"Near as we c'n tell, you done it most yourself. We found ya' in the workshop, scraping your own skin off. Yanked out a good portion of your hair. Here now, lie back and lemme put this over your eyes. You're just a mess, girl!"

Rusti obeyed and gasped when the hot cloth kissed the wounds and aches around her eyes. "Can you take me to Fort Max? Can somebody here take me there?"

"Fort Max? No, I doan think so. We're not legit here, Hon."

"Whaddya mean?"

"What do you mean 'whaddya mean'?" The ladybug retorted. "Didn't you see what was out there, girl?"

"No. Yes. Computers and car parts. So?"

"So . . . they . . . repossess cars and correct people's monetary history. Keeps the shelter going."

"You mean you guys are pirates and use the money to run a homeless shelter?"

"You hush, now child. I said nothing of the sort!"

She was confusing the girl and Rusti sighed. But she thought she understood what was going on: They were running a shelter for the homeless and runaways, but doing so by illegal means. Rusti fell silent. She was homesick and hoped Optimus and Roddi were okay, because she hadn't been able to sense anything from them.

The Ladybug drew Rusti out of the bathtub, dressed her in a clean but well-worn nightgown and fed her a small bowl of Cream of Wheat. Thereafter, Di put her to bed.

Rusti lay quietly, listening to the bustle on the other end of the abandoned factory. Now she really wished she were in her own bed at Home. She waited impatiently for sleep to come and take her away for a little while. But the factory stood far too silent on one hand and too noisy on the other. No music, she thought grimly.

What really upset her was how warped her sense of reality had become. She felt like Alice taking a really bad trip through Wonderland. Rusti could no longer tell what was real and what wasn't. The creature the other night, for example; was that real? Was it? She didn't know. She had never seen anything like it before. What about the people around her? But, the girl digressed, that was easily explained. None of the people she saw were really aliens, they were creatures and characters out of various fairy tales she knew. So that problem was solved.

She sat up, now fully unable to sleep. Di might come storming to her and scold her for not sleeping, but it really couldn't be helped. Rusti's hands and left arm reminded her of battles she had already fought and lost.

Pretty sad. A warrior she was not.

Rusti began to rock back and forth. The shadows on the wall in front of her had been dancing for the last half hour. Her mind had gone completely numb.

People rushed back and forth somewhere on the other side of the building. But always there was she and the dancing shadows on the wall.

Something was wrong. Distantly, she could tell something was wrong. Her heart panicked but her body felt like lead. She didn't want to go anywhere or do anything but sit and rock and stare at the dancing, moving shadows. There was nothing anybody could do for her. She wanted to scream and could not. She wanted to cry, but no tears came to her eyes.

Home. She wanted to go home. Home was not the senseless dull life of the Human population. It all weighed on her like a curse. They had no sense. All so flighty like a finicky butterfly. The shadows knew it, too. Her home wasn't here. Her people weren't here in Central City.

And she knew she was running out of time. The time-release microbes in her bloodstream were about to burst again and she'd go into another fit soon. How bad this next one would be was uncertain. And considering the mood she was in, the oncoming rush could be very bad.

She hated Brian for this. He deliberately tried to kill her this time and the Autobots were the only people who would not deliver her back to her parents. Her skin felt hot. Her heart kept racing and her ears rang so that the loudest of noises came muffled.

She kept rocking as though autistic. The shadows kept dancing, kept leaping in and out of her sight. What was going to happen? How was she going to get out of this mess? _Optimus._ she begged. _Oh, please, please answer me! Please be there! Please wait for me! Wait for me!_ tears stung her eyes and she batted once, feeling the warm tear turn cold on her cheek. Her heart raced and she willed it to slow down.

She watched as one of the shadows turned and faced her with glowing eyes.

It's started, she thought to herself. The third rush has started.

Something cast a darkness between she and the other side of the sleeping area. She slowly tore her eyes away from the hypnotic glowing eyes on the wall and faced a robot about her size.

The red-and-grey mech before her had the transform of a van. He had a pair of kind blue optics and a face structure that spoke of gruff kindness. Rusti tried to recall where she might have seen him before, but nothing came to her cloudy mind.

"Ya' can't stay here, li'l one."

"I know." She answered dreamily. "I just can't get myself to move."

"Yer in danger. These folks ain't able t' help ya."

Rusti sighed and wished the robot was real. A warrior's aura glowed about him and she believed he would risk his own life to protect her. But the vision passed and the robot changed into a broad powerful Autobot. She decided if he were a life-sized Transformer, he'd be taller than Optimus Prime. This one wielded a great battle axe and a crescent helm. A face plate graced his features and his large blue eyes told of a kind but fearless spark.

"Please." It begged. "You will die here."

She frowned. "I'm just Human. Optimus and Roddi can find somebody else to love."

He knelt beside her, his great axe now taller than his stature. "Please." He begged. "It's important."

She stared at it and quite suddenly realized the urgency wasn't coming from anybody in the factory, but the Matrix. Why would It be so concerned as to beg her to leave?

Rusti decided she didn't need to know. She slid off the bed, trying to ignore the bright eyes still watching her from the wall. She quietly dressed, found her back pack and soundlessly headed past the workshop toward the door and just distantly heard someone call her name.

But she ignored them. She wondered how far she'd get before the rush would really hit her. So far the rush was mild and it very well could stay this way for hours. But most likely not. The 'joys' rushes she had of late weren't very mild at all.

She aimed for the closest exit she could find. A banshee screeched behind her. And she hesitated.

"No!" The robot warrior shouted. "Don't look back! Just leave the building!"

Another banshee sounded, this time from a distance. The wind carried the sound, twisting it and pressing it forward like a paper boat caught in the current of a stream.

Rusti couldn't help but to hesitated again. What was the sound supposed to really be?

Di found Rusti and scolded her for leaving, but her words were drowned. The next banshee-screech turned into an explosion.

The walls shuddered and people shouted and dashed, pressed into action by the urgent sound of chaos, destruction and fear.

The Ladybug grabbed Rusti by the hand and dragged her toward the back end of the factory. A shrieking sliced through the air at such a high frequency that it forced the girl to hold her ears and bend over. Rusti staggered and fell against the wall, the sound ran through her body. She thought she could hear Di ask her what was wrong, but she could not answer. The girl managed to her feet, her eyes darting from floor to wall to wall, watching people grab whatever they could and make for the nearest exit.

A third screeching bomb detonated and ate the front end of the building. Some residents armed themselves and began to exchange fire with a giant army of ants as they tried to crash through windows and doors.

Other women like Di and Rhi-Ariana struggled to evacuate their sick and helpless. Rusti was dragged to her feet and forced along. The sounds, thundered like many super creatures clapping their hands, gnashing their teeth, daring others to take their paths to power and death.

Fire erupted, licking its way into every corner and hide-out within the factory. And the fire's army, the men who walked with bodies of flame, pressed ever forward as the residents retreated to the back part of the building. Men in stolen EDC uniform armor lined against the walking fire demons and tried to hose them down with fire extinguishers or lasers that licked the fires at the source.

But Rusti knew their attempts were futile. They were trying to put out fires that were not of man, fires that walked with a purpose, and kept advancing, ignoring the line of defense and came for the citizens as the ladies, the homeless and the helpless made their trek to safety.

Rusti could not figure for the life of her why the men in EDC uniforms didn't try to stop the walking flames. What was the matter with them?

She never got her answer. Di dragged her between a pair of swinging doors. Two huge tigers, walking on two legs, bolted and welded the doors behind them.

"Keep moving everyone!" Someone shouted. "They're still coming!"

"Mike! Mike! The energon cubes-"

Rusti thought for sure she was going to go deaf before she turned fifteen. The sound was horrendous. The energy released from the energon cubes blew a good portion of the building away, stripping the factory naked of its defenses and its paint. The sound was so loud, there was no sound at all. Everyone screamed, but their voices were muted, their death cries failed in the echoes of oblivion. The resulting shockwave bent walls made of metal as though they were made of straw. The paint melted and had Rusti and six other people not been covered by the bending wall, they too would have felt the resulting heat, their bodies disintegrating straight into ash.

Rusti trembled like the ash around her, now flying in the winds of the heat wave and the cold Oregon temperatures. She couldn't move. It didn't matter how a voice inside her shouted at her to move, to get up and leave while she was still alive. She couldn't get up. The floor was hot, and it hurt to breathe. She closed her stinging eyes and remained very still. Perhaps someone might come along and carry her outside.

But nothing happened.

At least not until someone choked a cry and tried to scamper out from under the protective wall.

Rusti opened her eyes to see what he was upset about and watched in horror as the building, made of metal, started to fold in on itself. Worse still, it opened a gaping mouth, threatening to swallow her whole. Rusti scrambled to her feet, staggering now because she could neither see nor breathe. She ran then ran into something invisible.

She choked then coughed and forced her eyes open. They watered, making the image blurry. It was a fire demon that met her gaze. It stared down at her as one would a bothersome mosquito and she silently made her way around him, hoping he would not be too mad.

But the fire demon peered at her. ". . .see me?" He asked.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision and kept walking away, glancing over her shoulder.

" . . . see me?" The voice was distant, like someone talking over a bad phone line. And the cracking and melting of the fire kept her from hearing most of what he said.

" . . .me?"

She paused and realized she should never have stopped walking, she should never have paused. He drew a rifle from his back and charged for her.

Rusti would have screamed if her dry and burning throat would have allowed her. But all she could do was weakly run the rest of the way down the hall, out the broken doors.

The demon followed her, weapon charged. His body, lighted and pale with the fire from the building, cursed at her. He pointed a flaming finger her way and she wondered why he hadn't shot her yet.

"Whoa! Whoa! Where do you think you're going there, Little Girl?" A Dopp had caught Rusti in her arms.

Her wooden arms.

Rusti wanted to scream, wanted to do something more than just stare at the puppet that held her prisoner.

Rusti weakly tried to wrest out of her hands but the woman gripped her tightly and hauled her up under the crook of her arm. Rusti fought and kicked and tried to use her weight to break free of the puppet's hold. The puppet-lady slammed her hard on the back of a Harley Davidson.

Rusti tried to slide off the other side, still unable to utter a cry. The puppet slapped her upside the back of her head to get her to behave. The force of the blow shoved Rusti against the bike's controls and sliced her along the forehead. But the impact gave her the opportunity to spot a small electric gun sitting on the dashboard. The dummy mounted the bike behind Rusti and gave it a good hard start. She was leaving and taking Rusti with her.

Rusti reached for the weapon and jammed it on the dummy's wooden leg. It/she squealed like a little pig and jolted with electrical vibrations. Rusti smelled burning flesh and something else not at all Human. The puppet fell off the bike and its frame flamed bright red and a nasty white ooze surfaced through the skin.

"HEY!" Someone shouted from the door and two huge rock monsters emerged from the burning factory. One stomped toward her, pointing a claw for a finger. "You get off that bike right now, Little Girl! I'll kill you!" His face shaded bright red and he dripped with poisoned sweat. The fire demon aimed its weapon at her.

Rusti swallowed hard and laid her hands on the bike's controls. It was a very large bike; meant for huge men with a broader shoulder span than hers. Her toes slowly rested on the floor ramps. She touched metal and power. Steel and electrical impulses. An alien non-life form. But it was familiar enough for her to touch it and to Touch it. She had never driven anything more than a bumper car in her life. She didn't even have a bicycle. But upon a few seconds' worth of a glance, she knew the controls, the brakes, the speedometer, the gas gauge. She knew how to balance it and work within the frame work of its awesome power. Teletronics.

Just as Big, Tall and Ugly came within precious inches of her, the bike came to life and nearly ran him over. Rusti's heart pounded and she sped away. In the rear-view mirror she spotted the rock creatures mounting bikes themselves and easing on after her.

She sped over the bridge linking the dead area to the rest of Central City. In the horizon she could see the red glow of smoke seep into the air. Part of the city was on fire. Behind her the two cyclists roared. She increased speed, feeling nothing. Not fear, not sorrow or excitement. Her entire frame of mind remained set on one objective. She heard nothing. It was as though part of her consciousness were asleep or dead. She spotted herself in the mirror and saw how her eyes were bright white, no trace of color in them at all. Her face was pale so that the blood that poured from her wounded forehead stood out as bright as her red hair.

Her heart pounded, her breath gasped and the cycle under her turned into an alien insect, complete with antennae and huge bulging eyes. Buildings that crowded around her turned into crouching creatures or the heads of gods. She passed under one expressway whose side had a face with five eyes. Each eye stared off into a separate direction until she approached and then it watched her intently, inwardly laughing at a little nine year-old who could not comprehend the gift she was using.

Rusti stole an exit toward the great park in Central City and tried to loose her chasers around that area. But they were experts on the bike and nearly outfoxed her twice. She veered a hard right and found a nearby ally. There, she forced the bike through a chain link fence into another alley which led her right back to a main road and to an on-ramp heading toward the main highway.

The two men tabbed her like magnets. She raced over the highway, zooming in and around people trying to get home before curfew was engaged. What should have been automobiles were also black insects of many alien variations. They raced right along with her until she came across a pair of semis. There she veered around them and took another exit off the highway over the bridge toward the university. She stopped along that empty road long enough to spot her pursuers. They slowed enough so that they could reach the on-ramp. Rusti laid a hand on the bike under her and kept an emotionless eye on them and the instant they drove up the ramp, both their bikes exploded right under them.

That explosion caused a chain reaction along the highway and one car caused another to crash into it, a third could not stop on time and a fourth piled on top with a fifth smashed into it and spun once, slamming into another car which slammed into another car which couldn't slow down on time and it too rammed into another car and so on and so on.

Rusti watched, her eyes burning something awful, her skin dry and aching. She was dying for something to drink.

The chain link fence standing between she and the highway below laughed at her and jeered. What she did was evil. She turned the bike around and headed down the street, leaving the highway in a terrible mess.

She rode to the edge of town where a long line of cars waited to seek refuge at Fort Max. At least, that's what was actually taking place. Rusti merely assumed they were all leaving period, not aware that Fort Max and Central City were besieged by alien-assisted cultists. The traffic jam was a delay Rusti could not afford. She parked in line behind a family car and turned the bike's engine off.

And she thought.

Perhaps she should just get off the road. Would the bike make it through the forest range mountains?

Doubtful. Rusti slipped off the bike and rummaged through what compartments weren't locked. She found half a bag of Doritos chips and a warm rain jacket. She searched around the seat and found a small bottle of water. She looked around a little more but found nothing else. She figured it's better than nothing and walked away, fully aware of so many eyes staring at her in shock.

"Hey!" Someone shouted from their car. "Wanna lift?"

She spun around, her eyes brightly lit. "I'm going to Fort Max!" She declared.

"Hey, Little Girl, you shouldn't just go into the forest. You'll get lost! Hey!"

He was an idiot. If he really wanted to take her there, he should get out of the damned car and get her, right? Did he do it? No. He cussed and sat back into his comfortable seat, concerned more with the traffic than the possibility that a little nine year-old girl could loose her life in the woods.

That did not matter to Rusti. She knew where she was going; he didn't need to fuss. She'd been down this way hundreds of times since she was a baby and she knew this way by heart. The trouble was all the hills. The ups and downs and curves and steep cliffs. The Cascade Mountain range wasn't so-named because the hillsides were sweet little slopes!

It was easy-going at first. The road out of Central city was pretty smooth, mostly twists and turns but then it turned damned ugly. Rusti had to decide whether to follow the road or go down into the gorge. She debated. If she traveled the highway, chances were someone, a police officer or someone else might try to pick her up. And chances were, they'd try to contact her parents. And that was the last thing she wanted. On the other hand, the gorge promised her a loss of direction, it being so far down and so thick with trees and brush. And there was another mountain coming up and if she followed the gorge, she'd have to go around that entire mountain, taking hours, perhaps days before reaching her destination.

She decided to stick to the highway. After all, it would still take her three days to reach Fort Max and maybe, just maybe she'd get lucky enough to run into one of the Autobots zooming up or back to the city.

That plan actually worked for the first three hours' walk. But Rusti's body wouldn't allow her to travel any further. She had to look for a place to sleep. Here on this part of the road, however, it was either cliff side or ravine.

Some choice!

Then a red VW slowed along the road and a high school student peered across the passenger seat. "Hey," he called. "Need a lift? I'm heading toward a cabin."

Rusti peeked in. "I just need to be dropped off where I can walk a little more easily. Can you do that for me?"

"Are you sure? Where're your folks?"

"Uhm. We're camping and I just got off the trail a little."

He bought it. "Wow, some camping trip. Didn't you guys know Antelope Elementary's been attacked? It's all over the news."

"We . . . ah, we're out here because of it."

"Oh. Well, hop in and tell me where you wanna go."

Gratefully, she slid in and they drove off and was Rusti ever glad she took him up on his offer! The next six miles were nothing but up hill climbing! Then the little bug started to descend into a low between mountain ranges and Rusti started to feel anxious and her body broke out in a sweat and that was when she noticed the borders around her fingernails started bleeding. She bit her lip. The rush hadn't hit at all yet. It was a false rush, all this time; a precursor! She gazed at the high school student who suddenly had become Jimmy Cricket.

"This will be fine." She suddenly piped.

"Are you sure?" He asked. "I could take you further, if you want."

"No." She objected. "I-I have to walk here. They're out there past those trees."

"Well, your folks are certainly safe!" He parked the VW off the road and she got out and closed the door after. "Good luck.' He said cheerfully and pulled away before she could thank him.

Rusti stepped into the forest, walking only a little distance from the road so that she could keep track of where she was. She searched for some place to settle and try to sleep off the oncoming rush.

She found a small nest comprised of fallen trees, rotting wood and ferns several yards away from the highway. She laid the coat over the nest and settled in. Her hands started to shake terribly and figured she needed food. She ate the Doritos and drank the water, but tried to do so sparingly, knowing that was all she would get for the next day or more.

She curled up then, pulling as much of the coat around her as she could spare from the ground.

Rusti had no idea how much time had passed. She woke to half a moon, bright enough to see shapes, but not bright enough by which to walk. She was half tempted to just curl back up and return to sleep. And she almost did except that she wished she had never awakened.

Sleep abandoned her entirely and she lay there, listening to the nearby wildlife and the cars that passed by on a continuous basis. She turned over on her back and wished for the millionth time she were Home in her room at Fort Max. She also had to admit she wished were home with her folks. Out here there was no telling what could happen. But somehow, she was certain she'd make it.

Mostly sure.

Almost sure.

Her head started to throb and pain spiked up into her brain so that she whined and held her head and sat up and bent over. Her face felt wet and it was then she realized her nose was bleeding.

"...ssssttiiiii..."

The voice was terribly faint.

" . . . sssstiiii . . ." She didn't dare look around, fearful Brian had found her and was going to kill her for . . . killing those two men. She did that too, didn't she? She killed somebody! And that caused a seven-car pile-up! What a horrible person she was now! Optimus would never look at her the same way! What if . . . what if he decided he didn't want to have anything more to do with her? What if he was so disappointed in her that he'd just make her stay with her folks?

". . . sssstiiiii . . . "

"No!" She begged. "Go away!"

Something wooden tapped her wrist and she looked up, expecting a puppet. But it was a dead and blackened tree stump with glowing eyes and a mouth back lit with the fires of hell. It bent over her and was reaching for her with scrawny scratchy limbs.

She freaked and fell out of the nest and slid down, down, down the hillside. Her right arm was caught on a tree branch and when she tried to free herself, it turned into a solid steel blade and sunk into her flesh. She screamed and struggled to free herself. She had to actually stop and calm down enough to lift her whole body up the slope and pull her arm off the branch.

" . . . ssssstiiii . . ." The tree stump peered over the edge of the slope and laughed and jumped down, sliding after her. Again, the girl swallowed air and slid down, almost out of control through underbrush and unkind trees jutting up from the hillside. Then the inevitable occurred. She flipped head over heels and tried to protect her head, but it was useless. The world tumbled, tossing her in agony and instability. Her mind caught up in chaos while her body was ripped and torn.

She finally landed face down in water, the bottom of the creek impacting her nose and she breathed in water. Reflexively she searched for the topside and broke through, finding the creek was by no means shallow. She coughed and sneezed and struggled for the bankside in the darkness of night. The creek was freezing cold and kept her muscles from working properly. She did find the bank, however. But it was the damned cliffside, not level land. She groped, her teeth chattering and she bit her lip hard. She cursed finally and kept forcing herself to move on, to keep looking for a stretch of land to get out of the biting-cold water. Her head throbbed, causing her eyes to ache, forcing her movements to go slower than what she would have liked.

Ah! The creek turned shallow under her feet and she crawled until she touched dried ground and blades of grasses and weeds. She coughed and sputtered and sneezed, her wet hair limp and cold against her neck. She fell over on her side and pulled her freezing wet body into a fetal position.

This was her punishment for killing those two men. What in the name of Primus was she thinking? Stupid little girl! What was wrong with you! She was going to loose Optimus and Roddi now and they would take her away and put her in jail and she'd never ever have friends . . . she started to cry. She deserved this. She deserved to die out here because she just wasn't good enough anymore.

Stupid, stupid little girl.

She tried to go to sleep. Perhaps she would die mercifully in her sleep. They might find her weeks later, just a stiff carcass in the middle of nowhere and Optimus and Roddi could move on in their lives and not worry about her anymore. They could give her room to somebody more important . . . and that thought caused her to cry too. She wanted them to love her! She wanted to be good enough.

And she was sorry. So very, very sorry! Her tears seemed to lift some throbbing in her head, but they hurt her cut and scratched face.

It was decided, then. She would lie here and die tonight and . . . she was so very sorry! She loved Optimus and Roddi. They took care of her and understood what she was feeling and now, what a horrible person she had become!

She shivered uncontrollably, now. Her breath came ragged and she opened her pained and swollen eyes. The mountain stared at her, but not really interested enough to ask any questions.

The tree stump, however, the stupid tree stump was still there, staring at her. Morning sun fell on him and he stared at her like the Devil, ready to accuse her of every crime she ever committed.

"Look at you!" It snarled with Delphra's and Daniel's voices. "What a horrible ugly child! What's the matter with you, Resonna? Hu? Are you really that stupid?"

Rusti was disappointed she was still alive. Or was she? She glanced around, expecting to be floating above her body. But no such luck. She stood, her clothes clung to her and her breath smoked in the early morning air. She hurt head to foot, her face tight with partially-dried blood. She gazed right up the slope she tumbled off last night and wondered how she managed to live through what she fell over.

"That's right." The stump waddled across the creek and stood next to her. "You're dead. And you're going to wander aimlessly across the Earth for all eternity. Now, the first thing to do is apologize."

She stared at it, its ugly black short body. Her teeth chattered and she kept shuddering with the cold. She thought about taking off her shoes, but she'd need those to climb over rocks and branches. "Don't call me 'Resonna." She finally answered.

"What?" It snapped. "You think you deserve to be called 'Rusti' after all you've done? Hu? What's the matter with you?"

"Go . . .away." She ordered. "Leave . . . me alone."

"Yeah, right."

She turned from it and stumbled over roots and fallen tree branches, heading in the general southern direction toward Autobot City.

"You're not going to arrive there in one piece, you know." The stump warned. It followed her and Rusti finally turned back. "You are nothing more than (shudder) a figment of my . . . imagination. Go away."

The stump's eyes narrowed dangerously and it swung an arm back. Rusti stared defiantly at it. It was all in her head; a drug-induced hallucination.

And it slapped her so hard she fell and hit a tree. Everything went blank for a moment then she came too and saw the stump hovering over her, still holding the same ugly face as before but with one very horrible exception: it was real.

Rusti screamed and pushed her way past it, trying to run with a weak and cold body.

"Oh, damnit." The stump snarled, waddling on after her. "You can't run away, stupid little girl. I'm the same thing that went after you a few days ago and you tried to run away then. But not this time! I have your sequence! I know what you are!"

And while she kept trying to run, she glanced back and watched in sheer horror as the stump's face stretched away from its body and opened a gaping black mouth dripping with poison. It bit her arm and actually tore off a piece of her flesh. She shrieked and threw a rock at it with her left hand.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" She screamed at the top of her weak little voice.

Her scream was little more than a pitiful whisper.

She ran as best she could, crying all the way. It just waddled on after, muttering and mumbling.

Then it raised its voice. "Sooner or later I'm going to get hungry and you'll get too tired to run and you'll have to lie down and sleep, little girl! Just lie down right now in your misery and give up!"

Rusti wept so now that she could hardly see where she was going. She tripped over a branch and down she went. She scampered, hearing that horrible scratching sound the stump made as it followed her. She glanced at the cold hard tree branch and found a piece had broken off in her fall. It might make a good weapon. She grasped it with her good hand and scampered to her feet. Optimus and Roddi might not love her anymore, but they might still be willing to help her survive. They wouldn't let this thing eat her, surely!

She kept moving, albeit slowly, and the horrible thing snapped at her constantly, maybe driving her purposefully. It bit her leg and ripped her pants and that made it more painful to walk. She could hardly do that as it was, now.

Then, blissfulness and grace be from the Matrix, a clearing came into view and Rusti used the last of her strength to approach a sheer golden wall.

"Noooo!" The stump screamed. "I won't let this go on! Noo!"

"Max!" She could hardly talk at all. "Max, please hear me! Help! There's something chasing me!" She stepped out onto the soft green grass bordering the fortress-city when the stump grasped her round about the legs and tripped her up, dragging her back.

She screamed, but she had no voice left and fought with waning strength. "Max!" Her voice came pitifully soft. She had screamed and cried her voice to nothing. "Max!"

The stump wrapped itself snugly about her body and opened its nasty black mouth and she felt its breath on her neck. Her own breath came short, her heart no longer pumping; her head split open and she wished she would die before he bit into her. And Rusti's strength left her altogether.

A thump sounded in her ears and Rusti thought her heart had given out and she wanted to cover her face but the stump would not let her do so.

Then he let her go. Just like that. She plunged helplessly forward, frozen by shock. She couldn't breathe. Her eyes wouldn't blink.

She was going to die, right there on the grassy lawn outside Fort Max. Perhaps they would consider forgiving her of her sins. She had cried herself still.

Optimus would never forgive her.

"Rus-s-stiii." The voice must have been the voice of a god. Soft, a whisper in the wind. "Sweet . . . heart?" There was fear in that voice. "Rus-s-stiii?" He whispered it. He sang it.

A pair of divine hands surrounded her frozen and soaked body. She couldn't respond. She couldn't move anything. She couldn't say anything. Rusti did not have the strength of body or emotion to tell Optimus that his baby bird had already died.

"Rus-s-s-tii? Come on, Sweetheart, stay with me."

Was she alive after all? He called her something she never heard him call her-or anyone else ever before. He called her something . . . that meant something. What did that mean?

Another soft thump hit the ground. And a long silent pause. Rusti could not guess what it was.

"They're coming." Roddi was there! Roddi was there, too!

"I'm . . . not registering anything, Roddi." Optimus mourned. "I-If I pick her up, I might injure her further." His voice sounded so sad. So soft and distant. She wanted to tell him she was alive, but not one part of her body would obey any of her commands. Exhaustion had total control.

"Prime, Blaster says her family just arrived."

"No!" Optimus mourned. "We just found her!"

A silent moment passed between them before Roddi spoke again. "I'll go and entertain them. You take her in."

Half her body was carefully rolled over and she was lifted off the cold wet ground. Now her frozen body was cuddled on a warm smooth surface. And she remembered this position. She remembered Optimus or Roddi would hold her just like this when she couldn't sleep. The position didn't do anything to ease the pain and stresses she suffered, but she was loved and that was enough. That's all she wanted.

Rusti opened her eyes and found herself laying in a fluffy white bed. Her eyes batted open and closed as she fought the desire to go back to sleep. Dr. Hanson ran a light blue laser over the worst cut on her forehead and greeted the girl with a worn smile.

"Well, you certainly are of all things, a survivor, Miss Witwicky!" She greeted.

Rusti tried to smile, but found her lips split. Then her heart suddenly raced and she moved. "Optimus!" Her voice was still worn out and what should have been an exclamation was little more than a squeak.

"Sssshhhhhh . . ." It came from above her and it distracted her enough for Dr. Hanson to force her back down. Optimus was sitting right behind her, his optics narrowed and flared at the same time. Something warmed her inside, wrapping about her weary soul and her eyes blinked slowly with sleep. She had been perfectly horrible and he still loved her. Rusti started to lift her right arm, now bandaged about the wrist and the forearm where she had been bitten. She covered her face with her left hand instead and tried to turn away in shame.

Dr. Hanson was trying to heal that nasty cut. "Hon, you'll have to lie still for this to work."

"But I killed somebody!" She found it hard to talk. "It was so awful!"

Optimus leaned over and slipped his finger very carefully under her injured right hand, trying not to lift it too much. "Rusti," he said gently. "Don't worry about it now. All that matters is that you're home with us."

She started to sob again.

"Ssssshhhhh . . ." He hushed and she felt the warmth encircling about her again. He repeated the soft gentle sound until she stopped crying and dropped the hand from her face.

Hanson gave that 'I'm-going-to-kill-somebody' look and she went back to work. "She's not going to recover in a day." She warned ahead of time.

"Rodimus has already informed Tolomsky. Optimus' soft voice rang through the room and Rusti thought an angel was talking.

"What about her family?"

"No. I have temporary custody right now."


	11. Chapter 11

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 11

Rodimus did not want to leave either Optimus or Rusti. He resolutely set himself in defensive mode, preparing to face Rusti's parents. They weren't going to be happy once they learn Rusti had been found by the Autobots and less happy that she was found running back to Fort Max. But at least she was found.

Well, Rodimus mused, it could be worse; Delphra could be with them.

Prime entered his office and found to his chagrin the Bitch Bomb was there after all. The Autobot leader decided to deal with all three of them on a business level. No emotion, no reaction. But that didn't include cooperation with any of Daniel's twisted mind games and emotional manipulations. He was good at it; had been able to control Arcee for years by using it. Rodimus remembered how Spike once confided his regret that Daniel had become so bitter. The boy who once loved so much, who cherished his life with the Autobots grew into an angry man. He did whatever he could to make others just as miserable and angry.

Unfortunately, that was something that could not be fixed. For the moment, Rodimus had to face a bitter, antagonistic man and his family of vultures.

Their faces were like grave stones. Rodimus went directly to his desk and leaned against the front rather than hiding behind it. He crossed his arms, preparing for whatever they had to throw at him.

"Where is my daughter?" Daniel started.

"Safe." Rodimus kept his tone light and to the point. But he wondered how Daniel knew she had been found.

Netty covered her mouth and stepped back from the other two. Silent tears of joy and relief threatened to overwhelm her. And Roddi took that as evidence that they didn't know she had been found, simply assuming the Autobots had already found her. Rodimus frowned inwardly, but kept his expression impassive.

Delphra stood straight and resolute. "Can we see her?"

"No."

"Why?" A spark of hate lit Daniel's eye."

"She's under medical care and can't be disturbed."

Delphra's face began to flush. "Is Optimus Prime with her?"

"He took her in."

"Is Optimus Prime with her?"

"I don't know. Most likely not. Hanson likes to work alone." Rodimus was pleased with his short, terse answers.

Daniel's face hardened. "Why don't you call him up right now and see if he's with her?"

That was emotional manipulation and Rodimus wanted to punch something. He cast his optics away from the trio and tried to control his anger. However, Rodimus privately argued, he didn't have to take orders from this . . . 'flesh creature.' "I am not going to waste time like this, Daniel."

Daniel's eyes smoldered a moment, the silence hanging heavily. From a side hatch in his exo-suit, Daniel produced a human-size digipad and activated it. "To Mr. And Mrs. Daniel Witwicky from the offices of Douglas County Supreme Court IV: It has been brought to our attention that one Resonna Witwicky, your nine year-old daughter, has repeatedly had her life threatened in and outside of your home. We have physical substantial evidence in regards to this accusation and have hereby selected a date and time for a hearing. The case of Douglas County vs Witwicky will be heard by his Honor, Judge Todd Volmers, presiding.

Until the date of the hearing, Douglas County has awarded Autobot Leader Optimus Prime temporary physical custody of Resonna Witwicky. Any questions in regards to this letter please-"

But Daniel refused to finish it. His eyes burned holes into Rodimus. "How dare you! I trusted you! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"The leader of the Autobots." Roddi answered smoothly.

Mockery masked Delphra's mean features. "Ohh! I suppose that gives you the universal right to intervene in the business of someone's private family life."

"No." Prime answered with the same smooth tone.

"Just where Resonna is concerned." Daniel guessed, "Is that it?"

"No. Only when someone's life is endangered."

Daniel cussed in La'Narkian and swung around and threw the digipad against the nearby wall. "You son-of-a-bitch!" He snarled. "Whatever that little girl said has nothing-"

"It's nothing she said, Daniel." Rodimus raised his voice just a little. "Your son was trying to kill her."

"You have no proof-"

"Yes, we do. A hypodermic needle was found with her blood and his prints all over it."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. "Could have been nothing more than a saline solution. Have you ever thought of that?"

Rodimus threw his hands in the air and spun away. "Ah, gimme a break!" He turned back to them. "We have evidence to prove that your son has been involved with the Doppelgangers-"

And Daniel's whole face turned beet-red. "IT'S A LIE!" He shouted at the top of his lungs "IT'S ALL A FUCKING LIE! YOU MADE IT UP JUST SO YOU CAN KEEP ONE OF MY CHILDREN FROM ME! YOU'RE A LIAR!"

Now Rodimus looked angry. His shoulders bent forward, his head down to stare at the Human directly. "YEAH, OKAY, DANIEL!" He yelled back. "SO I'M A LIAR, NOW! FINE! YOU'RE RIGHT. I MADE IT ALL UP JUST SO I COULD TAKE ON THE RESPONSIBILITY OF FEEDING AND DRESSING A LITTLE NINE YEAR-OLD GIRL AND HELP HER WITH HER HOMEWORK AFTER SCHOOL AND LISTEN TO ALL THE WONDERFUL GIRL-TALK ABOUT HER FRIENDS AND THEIR PROBLEMS. YEAH. THAT'S THE TICKET! AND WHILE YOU'RE STILL UNCIVILIZED ABOUT THE WHOLE THING, LET'S TALK ABOUT THE NIGHT SHE HAD TO BE RUSHED TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM AFTER BRIAN BURNED HER BACK WITH BOILING WATER! OR WHAT ABOUT THE FIRST INCIDENT AT THE SCHOOL WHERE SOMEONE HAD DRUGGED HER WITH 'JOYS' THAT PUT HER IN THE HOSPITAL? OKAY, DANIEL, WE MADE IT ALL UP. NOTHING LIKE THAT EVER OCCURRED!"

The three adults stood there, guilt written over their faces like graffiti. But Rodimus had salt to rub in their wounded pride: "So how are you going to argue with the note Rusti wrote before she ran away?"

All three shot him shocked expressions. Netty opened her mouth, almost unable to say anything at first. "You're kidding." She nearly whispered.

Rodimus gave her a very sarcastic attitude. "Yeah. I'm kidding. And I'm lying and I'm standing here in front of three highly intelligent and compassionate adults who are more concerned that a child is in danger than their own idiotic pride."

Daniel's hand formed a fist. "Where's the note, Rodimus?"

"I don't have it. Talk to her case worker."

"Where's the note, Rodimus?" His voice was nothing but a growl, now.

"Do you need an upgrade in your audio components, Daniel? I just said that I don't have it."

Daniel stared him down, unable to say anything at all. Netty tugged at his arm, realizing they were wasting their time. "Come on, Dan. Let's just go."

"I'm not finished." Daniel loudly declared.

"That's alright." Roddi shrugged. "I can go on like this for the next week or two, if you so choose."

"Dan." Netty said a little louder. "It's pointless. We can't do anything right-"

He gave her a back-handed slap across the face and Rodimus was about to land in the middle of him for striking a woman when Netty came right back with a hard right cross, splitting the corner of his lip. She spit in his face and stomped out the room, Delphra tagging behind her for support.

After a long contentious stare, Daniel turned to go, aiming for the huge pair of doors.

"Daniel," Rodimus called, "I was wondering if you could help me with something."

Daniel did not turn around.

"There was a boy, about nine or ten years old who used to love life. He was full of energy and compassion. But he somehow has disappeared over the years. Can you help me find him?"

Daniel was silent for a long moment then glared at Prime over his shoulder. "He died. A long time ago," he answered deadpan. And he walked out without another word.

Silence and darkness filled the recovery room with the comfort like of that of being inside during a rainstorm. Just the slightest hint of soft music played while three monitors and a scanner stood at attention around the bed. Rusti slept very soundly without dreams or interruption. She had no recollection of anything more than waking from a nightmare and finding Optimus there beside her. A doctor had given her something warm and semi-sweet to drink and warmly closed off the cuts and scratches and three really ugly wounds. Rusti liked to think she had been wounded playing Dinobot football. But something in the back of her mind said she did not and she refused to pursue that thought.

The bed was the most comfortable (clean!) thing she had slept on in a long time. But Rusti didn't think it was so much the bed that was wonderful as it was the sense of security.

She was Home.

She sighed contentedly and shifted slightly to the right when then the door opened, sneaking a shaft of blinding light into the room. Someone entered, but did not call her name, did not warn her they were going to turn the light on.

Rusti's eyes shot right open, her heart racing, her ears straining to hear the slightest scratching. She tried to see the intruder through the darkness and wondered how fast she could pull herself off the bed and escape before the figure attacked her. Ever so carefully she slid her left hand over and yanked out the IV. She peeled off several sensors, not knowing one of them was connected to a security system.

The figure approached the bed and Rusti readied her whole body, commanding it to do her exact bidding.

It was Delphra. It had to be, though the face was distorted, looking more like the face of a Dressy-Bessy than a Human. She had come to steal Rusti away, take her back to her parent's home.

Nothing doing! The woman raised a needle to the light to check its exact dosage when Rusti suddenly punched the woman in the stomach, grabbed the needle from her and jammed it up the woman's face, through the cheek into her eye.

The woman wailed with pain. Rusti leapt effortlessly over her and ran for the door, the woman's screams echoed after her.

Max roused EDC security and three figures came bouncing round the corner right at her. To Rusti's deranged state of mind, all of them were tall tree trunks, dark and unholy with wounds and disease. Rusti slid on the floor in terror and scampered the other way. One of them chased her down and she passed her room heading in the other direction. She rounded a right and her strength started to give out. The pursuing tree stump leapt and tripped her with iron-clad branches. She fell with a thwack kicking and screaming, hysterically. She clawed his wooden body with her nails and wept, terrified.

"LET GO OF HER!" Optimus' voice boomed through the halls. The security officer withered away, leaving the poor child in a huddled bundle of wrecked nerves. Optimus sank to his knees and covered her little body with his hands like a clam shell. "I had made specific orders that only authorized personnel were permitted in the room. What happened?"

The security officer nervously touched his left cheek and found his arm bleeding in three distinct lines. "I-I don't know, sir. I-I assumed everyone knew about orders regarding room 29-A."

He waited while Prime bent close to the sobbing girl and tried to hush her with a soft whisper. Then Prime's optics shot at the guard. "I suggest you report to your commanding officer." He growled. I will not tolerate another incident like this."

The guard stood, shaking a little himself. "Sir. Y-yes sir!"

Optimus waited until the security officer retreated before turning to comfort the little spark under his hands. He tried to hush her down again and could feel her shaking. "Russstii." He whispered. "It's just me, now."

"They were going to take me away." She shivered and scrunched her body into a tighter ball, her arms covering her curly red hair. "Delphra was going to stick a needle in me!"

Her voice came so little, so fearful! And she had locked herself tightly. He gathered her into his hands and held her with his left arm and covered her with his right. Perhaps he should just watch over her himself.

Rusti came to later finding herself in familiar surroundings. She wasn't sure why they were familiar at first until her sight came into focus and she found Optimus silently tapping at a digipad and passing it to someone else. She looked up beyond her pillow and found Roddi sitting on the other side of the . . . desk? She wasn't sleeping on a cot or a sleeping bag. The room vibrated with soft sounds of chimes and river water. Optimus was playing soft music for her while she slept! She smiled but only inwardly.

And as much as she wanted to say something, her eyelids would not stay open long enough for her to even think of a reason to say something. She fought to stay awake, though. If she fell asleep, she might wake up in her bedroom in Central City. And she'd have to go to school the next morning and she'd flunk all her classes again and that would make her parents mad and, of course, she knew she'd have to go to summer school. She knew that.

"Go back to sleep, Rusti." Optimus whispered.

It surprised her and she met his soft blue optics. Rodimus said nothing at all, trading digipads with Prime. _Do you need something? Water or other?_

_No._ she returned. _I just didn't want to wake up back in town, that's all._

_You wont' be going back there for a while. The hearing can't commence until you're well enough to talk._

It meant she would be Home for at least a few days. That was a most comforting thought. And just before she teetered and fell off the edge of dreamland, Rusti realized the throbbing headache had left her entirely. Her racing pulse had settled. Roddi's hand loomed up over her and pulled the cover a little closer to her neck. "Go to sleep, Lady-friend." He said softly. "We'll be here for you."

Rusti nestled down into her pillow and breathed a shallow sigh. The room's single soft little light dimmed from her vision and the river music touched her mind and somehow Rusti envisioned herself standing on a soft grassy hill overlooking a large meadow. From the meadow, the land sloped down into a great and beautiful garden filled with the most breathtaking flowers she had ever seen. A kind soft breeze combed through her blood-red hair. Her eyes drifted up from the bottom of the meadow and beheld a great lake punctuated by tall sheer mountain cliffs and a gorgeous sunset filtering through clouds of peach, gold and bright red.

And that was all she remembered.

". . . Well, I hope you're right, Prime. I'd hate to suddenly end up with a needle through my eye."

"That was unintentional, Dr. Hanson, I assure you."

"Yeah, well . . . that remains to be seen. I hear Cynyr's supposed to be back from Cybertron tomorrow. Seems the crotchety peck has had enough interplanetary travel for a while."

Pause. "Are you suggesting we turn Rusti's case to him?"

"Pfft! No. I know how he's not fond of children. I'll see her through."

"Thank you, Rachelle."

Rusti stirred, far too comfortable to move around. She was still lying on Optimus' desk, some distance from a pile of digipads. A dark-skinned Betty Boop approached and the girl frowned.

"Heeeyyyy!" Dr. Hanson furred her brows. "What's with the frown there, girl?"

"If you were seeing what you look like, you'd be frowning too." She replied in dour tones.

"Still hallucinating, hu?"

Rusti glowered and turned left, finding herself scrutinized by Optimus Prime's blue optics. It was a relief to see something in its true state. Somehow she didn't hallucinate with the Autobots; just Humans. "What's today, Optimus?"

"Saturday."

She blinked in disbelief. "What? But . . . but I can't remember . . . " she stared at Optimus and tried to piece days and time together, trying to account for lost time but her memories came and went by means of events and emotions and dreams that were and weren't real.

Something pinched her right arm and she saw Betty Boop inject something in her arm. Two flashes came and left her and Rusti began to cry, overcome by memories of pain and anger, someone's hatred and the filthiness that clung to her.

Hanson glanced at Prime, just as confused as he. "Hon, I didn't mean to hurt you. It's supposed to help stop the hallucinations."

"It's not that." Rusti wept and gathered her blankets into a bundle. She felt Optimus' fingers touch her hair as he gently tried to mentally comfort her. "It's just that . . . somebody tried to kill me with one of those."

Hanson really felt for the girl. The emotional distress she must have suffered would probably send any adult to the paddy wagon. But here she was, alive and rational. It would take time for her to settle, naturally. But if the two Primes were patient enough, Hanson felt sure the girl would recover very well. "Hon? Rusti?" She waited until Rusti looked back at her. "You're going to be okay. I know it's hard. But you're safe here. You're very brave going through what you did."

But Rusti didn't feel brave at all. She feared being sent back. She hoped Optimus would never send her back to that awful place. She turned from Hanson entirely and laid her hand on Optimus' hand now resting on the edge of the desk next to her.

Hanson stood, knowing it was time to leave them alone. "Well!" She sighed. "I have other patients here in the city. Better get going."

"I'll see you to the door." Prime offered. He followed her to the threshold, wanting to ask, but daring not to.

Hanson was sure she saw the hesitation in his optics. She gave a wry, confident smile. "Just give her time. She trusts you implicitly. I'll be back tonight for the next shot. We should have it licked by Monday."

"Thank you, Doctor Hanson." He waited until she left and the door closed. He found the girl sitting up, running her fingers through her hair. He approached and knelt by the desk to see her face-to-face. "I canceled all my appointments, Rusti. I'm afraid you're stuck with me all day."

She smiled lightly, some of the larger cuts not entirely cured by the laser still hurt, but not as badly as before. "I guess there aren't any cartoons left to watch, hu, Optimus?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Perhaps . . . we could find something from a tape library. Would that be alright?"

She nodded slightly. "Roddi's doing all the paperwork, hu?"

"What? Why? Did you want to do some of it, too?" She only shook her head, but Optimus did see the faint light of a smile. "Hungry?" He offered.

She nodded.

Prime made the mistake of taking her to the cafeteria. At first she seemed okay when Stylor, Arcana and Recoil entered the room with their exo-suites on. But as EDC officers entered the cafeteria for lunch break, the girl started to look away, uncomfortable and upset. She'd observe one person, whimper and look the other way. And when one officer, Cadet Swenzy, sat across from her, Rusti jumped and fled the room. Prime cursed himself for being thoughtless and went after her.

She sat in the corner outside the building, her arms wrapped about her body, her eyes wide and tearful. He slowly knelt before her. "I'm sorry, Rusti." He said softly. "I was informed the shot would stop the hallucinations. Is that what's bothering you?"

"Nothing seems right anymore." Her little voice could not rise above an octave. "They're all something they shouldn't be." She couldn't say the rest; what they looked like, how cold she felt inside.

"Perhaps you could finish your breakfast in my office." He lowered his hand and she climbed on, feeling foolish.

The day went on slowly. Optimus tried to encourage her to draw, color or read. But she had no desire to do anything more than sit and watch TV. He didn't mind. He sat and did paperwork, trying to catch up.

She napped for a couple of hours and had a late lunch. She scarcely spoke and when she did, her voice was never higher than just a quiet warble. She clutched her Raggedy Ann closely, sometimes shivering and Optimus encouraged her to curl up in her blanket.

He paused from Fort Horizon updates and watched her. Rusti's eyes remained large, her face tight with trauma. The Autobot leader frowned to himself, musing that he probably should have been more aggressive insisting that she stay with them more often. If only her parents could see her right now! On the other hand, they probably would not notice a thing. Or they'd deny it, as Rodimus reported through an earlier private conversation. Roddi was infuriated after talking with them the day before and it took him an hour to calm down. Optimus too, supposed he should have been there, apologizing to Rodimus for letting him talk to them alone. But the Second brushed him off.

"We're a team, remember? One of us had to be there with her. You know that. Besides, Daniel needed someone to yell at him and you're not the temperamental one between us."

Prime couldn't argue with that. He told Rodimus that a certain 'somebody's' been asking for him and Rodimus indirectly told Rusti he'd try to stop by. But things being as they were at the time; the city in ruins, the emergency crews stretched to their absolute limit, it would be difficult to just take a break.

"You mean the Doppelgangers?" She asked when Op relayed the message.

"That's correct." He answered.

She looked away for a moment, not as solemnly as before. She glanced at him, then returned to the TV. She wanted to tell him something, but hesitated because she wasn't sure whether or not he'd believe her. Rusti settled and watched another Loony Tunes before glancing back at Optimus who looked like he was presently studying one of Perceptor's long-ass reports.

"I know what they look like." She said suddenly.

He had to tear himself away from the digipad and gazed at her. "Who's that, Rusti?" He asked softly.

She suddenly realized how good it felt to hear his deep soft voice. It filled her with a kindness she could find nowhere else. She gave him a little smile. "The Doppelgangers." She paused when she realized he didn't know what she was talking about. "Their twins, I mean."

Prime drew back in surprise. "You can see them? How?"

She nodded, keeping her face straight, ever serious. "They look like puppets or those dummy-puppets the vun'tr'lquists use."

"Puppets?"

Again she nodded. "The bus driver was one."

Optimus stared at her, completely speechless. He tore himself from his reaction and turned to the computer and typed a message to Tolomsky and received a rushed message. He turned back to the girl. "Rusti, if we were to show you a suspect, could you tell whether or not he or she was one?"

She nodded. "But I only see the dummy, Optimus. I can't tell whether or not the real person is a dopp."

He seemed excited now. Rusti was glad to see she was able to help ease his burden a little. He scribbled something on a digipad, searched through the pile of other digipads until he found the one he sought. He swept up an adaptor and connected one digipad to the other and punched in a command code sequence.

Rusti turned away from him and lay down on her side, her attention returned to the view screen.

"Rusti?"

Pause.

"Hmm. Seems she's asleep right now."

"Well, we waited this long. We can wait a while longer."

She yawned and found she had fallen asleep watching TV. She sat up, still holding her Raggedy Ann. The girl smiled at Optimus, finding her body had gathered energy while she slept. If felt good not to be so tired and sad!

Prime leaned a little toward her, his optics concentrating on her eyes. "Rusti, don't look yet. Police Chief Tolomsky is here to ask you a couple of questions. If you don't think you can handle talking to him, you don't have to."

She braved the chance and turned toward the front of the office where the human police officer stood. At first he looked like a mongoose with wings but the image corrected itself and there stood a slightly-overweight fellow with a kind face wearing a trench coat, a cotton shirt and a pair of black jeans.

Tolomsky snuck three sunflower seeds into his mouth and took note the interactions between Prime and the girl. Optimus was very careful with her. Better than me with my own kids, he thought dismally. "Hey Rusti, how're you?"

"Okay." She replied softly.

"That's good. You remember me?" He watched her nod. "Yer, uh, Guardian Angel here tells me you c'n spot the Dopps or their . . . twins, did you say?"

She nodded again. "They look like puppets or those wooden dummies."

"No shit?" Tolomsky cringed. "Sorry." He apologized for cussing. "Look, ah, if it's alright with you, I'd like ta take you down town to look at some people." He held his hands out defensively. "Now, if you're not up to it, I'd understand. I know you been through hell already. If you wouldn't mind, we could really use your help."

She turned from Tolomsky to Optimus and back. "Not today." She answered carefully.

"Ah, heck, no!" Tolomsky agreed. "Too late in the day, anyway. Tell you what, you rub our back, we'll rub yours. I'll strike a deal with you."

"Testify for me in court." She suddenly jumped.

Her words surprised both Tolomsky and Prime. Tolomsky froze. Prime flinched in surprise.

"Rusti!" He said softly, very surprised.

She didn't look at him. "I want to stay here." She pleaded.

Tolomsky found his head and shook a finger at her. "You're a smart kid. I can't promise anything in that department, but I'll definitely throw in a good word. Will that work?"

It was no binding promise. It didn't mean any protection against Brian. It meant nothing but that he would give it a shot. It would have to do. She silently nodded and he pointed at her, squinting one eye. "You give us a call, Miss Witwicky, when you wanna come down. I'll make sure you have a room all to yourself. Will that work?" Again she gave him a nod with a slight smile. "Alright. Thanks, Prime." He tossed a nod toward the Autobot leader.

Optimus suddenly looked very cordial. "We'll contact you later." He waited until Tolomsky left the room then turned to the young lady occupying his desktop. "And what, may I ask, was that all about?"

She looked at him and acted rather coy. "I feel better when I'm here. I don't have any headaches or back aches. I can breathe. What's wrong with me?"

If only there was a way to prove her condition! The 'missing gamma waves' was all circumstantial and since the law really didn't recognize scientific theory as fact, they really had no way of proving Rusti should stay for reasons of health. All that was left to them was the endangerment of her life. But since it wasn't her parents who were endangering her life, the case would be harder to win.

Rusti watched him finger a pen near his left hand and she lay down, miserable because he really couldn't find something that would promise she could stay. Rusti knew it wasn't his fault. It's just that her parents felt she should be home with them, whether or not she wanted to stay in Autobot City. Perhaps the school counselor was right: what she was going through was self-induced.

She was roused from another nap and Rodimus offered (insisted) a bowl of soup. Optimus had personnel business dealing with Springer but Rodimus did not go into details. He kept harassing her as she ate, making fun of the food, of the spoon and the fact that she dripped the soup several times as she tried not to laugh. Or, at least he accused her of trying not to laugh. Rusti wasn't up to laughing yet, but she felt lighter than before and found she didn't need her rag doll right now.

"So . . ." Rodimus tried to think of a topic that was far away from school and the circumstances and her horrible home life. He couldn't think of anything at all for the moment.

But she did. "Did anybody take the Dinobots out for football while I was gone?"

Roddi smiled. "I caught Magnus playing with them a few nights ago."

Her eyes shot wide open. "Ultra Magnus? Football? He doesn't know how to play!'

"Sure he does!"

"No he doesn't. He tosses the football around but doesn't know there's supposed to be a goal line."

"Rusti, what's the objective in Dinobot football?"

She pursed her lips together in deep thought. The expression was so cute, Rodimus thought he was going to die laughing if it weren't for his training.

"To . . . get the ball."

"Right. So how can you go wrong with that? If Mags doesn't care about the goal line and the Dingy Dinos don't care about the goal line, then it doesn't matter."

"I still can't see Ultra Magnus finding something more to do than battle drills." She frowned.

Rodimus leaned toward her. "You know, I'll bet he's a Lost In Space fan."

She studied him a moment. "Yeah, right!" She took the last spoonful of soup and set it by the bed. "If that's the case, Dr. Smith's probably his hero."

He stared at her, mouth open, "I don't think so, Rusti. It's gotta be Robot. He'd probably wanna pummel Smith's face in."

"Bet not." she argued. "I'll bet he likes Smith because he's so slimy and still gets away with it."

"Not in the end." He rebutted. "The whole series ends like this: the Proff and Mrs. 'R' have six more kids. Judy and Don, happily ever after. Will marries an alien and Penny ends up the goddess of some ancient civilization."

Rusti raised her brows, dubious of Roddi's rationality. "When did you see that episode?"

"Fan fiction, Rus. You should try it."

Rusti groaned and lay on her back, covering her eyes. "I do not believe you!"

"What?" He asked innocently. "Awe, come on, Rus! I know it's not grammatically correct half the time, the narrative is bad more often than not, but you get a general idea of the storyline. Not everyone's a genius, you know."

She peeked at him through her fingers. "And this is coming from the same person who dances to Phil Collins."

He pointed at her, "The Philo-"

"-Maestro." She finished with him, "yes, I know." He was so silly, sometimes. She wondered if this was the real Rodimus Prime or not; if he was, in fact, just putting on a show for her. Rusti had yet to see him really ever be quite as serious as Optimus. Not that she'd ever want to see him that way. It's just that sometimes Roddi seemed as juvenile as she. Maybe that was just Roddi's way. "You know, Roddi," she continued the conversation, "I'm willing to bet that somewhere, in some other universe or reality, some . . . art teacher in Ohio is writing a huge saga all about you." The very idea forced her to giggle softly. "And she probably has billions of pictures of you pinned up all over the walls of her house and an action figure of you sitting at her computer for inspiration!" She rubbed her eyes. Sleep beckoned her again, although Rusti knew it was still rather early in the evening.

Rodimus took to his feet, indignant. "Art teacher!" He glanced out the window then back at her around his shoulder. "Just for that, I'm not going to tell you what happened to Dr. Smith in the end."

Rusti groaned, afraid it would be something corny. She slipped under her covers and propped her head on her folded arms. "Awwe! Roddi it can't be that great!"

An evil smile swept over his face. "He goes insane and marries Robot."

Rusti moaned and yanked the covers over her head. "Max, Lights!" And the room went dark.

Rusti woke in her own room the following morning. It was nice to be in a real bed with a little more privacy. Sleeping on Optimus' desk wasn't so bad when she feared nightmares. But it seemed that stage had faded and accurately, Op and/or Roddi had assumed she would want a little more comfort and quiet. She took in a deep breath and noted by the light of her room there were clouds out in the sky. Nice thick rain-heavy clouds ready to bless the mountain landscape.

"Sleep okay?" Came a familiar voice.

Not her mother's voice, but Aunt Missy. Rusti rolled her head left and smiled at the captain. "Yeah." She answered softly. "Okay. Hey!" She sat up, feeling stronger than she had in several days, "you're you! I mean, a real person!" She reached out and touched Marissa Fairborn's' arm and sure enough, it was substance: skin and bones and clothes and grey hair and brown eyes.

"That's a good thing." Marissa agreed. "You didn't know it at the time, but Dr. Hanson gave you a shot while you slept for the past two nights. She didn't wanna see you cry again."

Rusti turned very serious. "That was bad." She agreed. "I thought everything was going to attack me. Everywhere I looked, everybody was what they weren't supposed to be. I saw a ladybug instead of a real woman. I saw demons instead of guys and even the car wasn't a car."

Marissa actually had other things she needed Rusti to do, but at the moment, she realized this was more important to the girl. Someone needed to just sit and listen, now. The physical trauma was over. But emotionally it was hard to tell just where Rusti was. How far would the repercussions of her experiences go? At the moment, Rusti seemed so very much at home, so very much at ease for someone who had been lost and alone for several days. The Captain sat back in her chair and concentrated on the child and marveled at Rusti's strength of will.

"The factory was what made me sad." she related. "So many people died there and I couldn't help them. That was when the two guys came after me on bikes. I got on a bike and took off and they followed me along the highway until . . ."

She stopped and threw her eyes on the bed. Guilt wore her expression down. She could say nothing more.

Marissa waited and wondered whether she should press the issue and get it out of the girl, or wait and let Rusti do it on her own. She looked sympathetic. "Just take your time, Hon. If you don't think you can tell me right now, it's okay."

But Rusti knew she had to get it out. "I killed them." She said suddenly.

Marissa gazed at her with a mix of doubt and surprise.

"You don't believe me." Rusti moaned sadly.

"Well, I've never known a nine year-old girl to kill someone who's more than twice her age." Marissa explained.

Silence hung heavy for a moment then Rusti pulled herself out of the sad state. "I told Optimus. But he told me to hush for a while."

"Was that when he first brought you in?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he probably meant at the time you just needed to rest." Marissa waited a beat: "He was very much afraid for you. We all were."

Rusti thought for a long moment then looked back at Marissa. "I know it's hard for him to take time away from his work. And that he did that just so I could sleep better."

"You're very special to him." The Captain confirmed. "He thinks a great deal of you."

Rusti lay face-down on her pillow, her arms tucked under it. Not tired, just dreaming. She smiled. "I'm gonna marry him when I grow up." She sighed.

"Yeah, sure you are." Marissa stood and lovingly whacked the girl on the rear. Rusti giggled. "Up you get, girl. That Tolomsky fellow's waiting for you."

Rusti sat up and Marissa swore up and down a spring had just snapped in her. The girl's eyes sparked to life. "He said I'd get a room all to myself there. Are you gonna be there?"

"Hmmhmm. Me and Streetwise and Roddi."

Marissa made the girl wear sunglasses and a sun hat to hide her identity as they went into town. So many buildings had been obliterated, leaving many Autobots and other construction workers with more work than they had seen in nearly twenty-five years. The police station seemed every bit as much in chaos as the city outside. People shouted over one another, phones rang off their hooks, three TVs were blaring at once, cellphones bleeped and volunteers hustled back and forth, handing out food and coffee or aspirin at the worker's requests. People were brought in and checked, documented and booked. But nobody seemed to notice Captain Fairborn and the little girl she let to the right side of the station and downstairs.

There they entered a dark room where on the other side was a large window. Through that they could see people marching in and lining up one at a time. Mostly males stood at attention, but there were one or two females.

Rusti played with her hair, feeling a little nervous. She hoped she didn't make a mistake. What if she could see the dummies only under the influence of 'joys'? No, she had to remind herself that she saw the bus driver while completely within her mind.

"Nothin' like watchin' a bunch a losers line up just so you can throw things at them." Roddi's voice rang through the room.

Marissa gave him a cross look. "You shouldn't talk that way around the girl." She admonished.

"You're right.' Roddi agreed. "I'm sorry, Streetwise. I'll behave."

Rusti sniggered quietly.

Tolomsky entered the room and locked the door behind him. "Well, ladies and boys, that's our first group. You wanna take a gander there, Rusti?"

She went to the window and stared at each of them then shook her head. "No. There's no puppets here."

"Okay." He pulled out his radio. "Mike, send in the next group."

And others marched in-including a very skinny female. Rusti waited until the woman faced the window and pointed at her, looking away from the wooden face and painted eyes. "There! That one."

They dragged her into the room, lights concentrating entirely on the table at which the Doppelganger was forced to sit.

"Name." Tolomsky demanded.

The woman eyed him as though he were an insect. "Bloody Mary."

Rusti had to turn away from her. She couldn't look at the thing anymore, it just freaked her too much. As she slid off her seat toward the water tank, a dark-skinned woman walked in. She wore a black grape short-lined dress. Her hands were snugly bandaged.

Tolomsky guided her to a chair then stood next to her and crossed his arms.

Ashlyn trembled inside and glanced at the other occupants in the room. Mrs. Jamison was supposed to be here, but one of her children had fallen ill. Ashlyn was just released from the hospital the day before. She suffered from traumatic stress and in spite of the doctor's warning, went back to work. With Jamison unavailable, she was desperately needed. Ashlyn remembered the paramedics had to drag her out on a stretcher and gave her tranquilizers to calm her down. Later that night, Tolomsky sent six more cops into the VR Center and arrested sixteen people suspected of involvement.

The psychic drew a deep breath and laid her bandaged hands on the table. She was here to try and pick up Rusti's psychic frequencies so that she too could spot the Dopps. 'Bloody Mary' looked just like another junky to her.

"Alright, Bloody Mary," Tolomsky snarled, "or whatever other high school drop-out name you've given yourself. Let's start from the top. Who are you?"

The woman opened her mouth and Rusti heard her voice come in a muffled echo, like a cassette tape gone bad:

"I . . . ammmmmmmm Bblllooooodddddyyyyy Mmmmmmmmarrrrrrryy."

Cold seized Rusti with claws of iron.

But no one else seemed to notice. Rusti closed her eyes and wished, not for the first time, she could be elsewhere.

The psychic stared at the Doppelganger and cringed. She didn't like how the lady said her name. It seemed almost as though someone else used her voice. Then Mary cackled and leaned back in the chair, arms smartly crossed.

Ashlyn swallowed hard. Her hands started hurting again and she tried to concentrate. She cast her eye upon the beautiful little girl. But the child wasn't dealing with this very well. She cupped her water and tried to keep her hands from shaking. Her curly red hair failed to hide the scratches and cuts lining her pale face. She too must have been through a really horrible ordeal.

Then Rusti locked eyes with her and Ashlyn caught her breath. Something lay hidden in the girl's soul. An event took place that affected both the girl's future and her past.

One event, crossing over the boundaries of time, tipped the scales of reality back into balance. Her soul harbored Something that was so alien, there was no Human frame of reference for it. 'They' called it machine, but it was far beyond machine, far above the organics. It knew and remembered and endured horrors beyond equivocation. And it knew the presence here, It knew Bloody Mary and of what evil she was . . . constructed?

Constructed? Ashlyn slowly tore her eyes off Rusti and ran them across the little room to stare at Bloody Mary and there she saw it; a construct, a facade of Humanity. And suddenly she was able to see for herself how unholy the Doppelgangers were, if unholy be the right word. They were a mockery of life, a shell that had no will of its own. The eyes were painted, the skin merely wood and when she moved, Bloody Mary jerked just slightly. The lines that formed her mouth and chin gave her an eerie expression; something dead and evil was trying to pretend it was living.

Ashlyn glanced back at Rusti. Her sea-grey eyes dared another look at Bloody Mary and Ashlyn could see the outline of another spirit glowing from around Rusti's body. Every time Mary moved, even to sip water, the glowing outline reacted.

And when Bloody Mary stood to stretch, the blue haze around Rusti opened a set of glowing eyes. Rusti dropped her water and stumbled against the wall, the aura shot a weak flare out toward Mary.

Ashlyn jumped to her feet. "Oh God!" She cried, "There's another presence in the room!"

"What?" Tolomsky asked, trying to stay calm.

"I don't know." Ashlyn settled back in her chair. "Ancient beyond the Earth. Ancient and knowing. It remembers this."

"What 'this'?" Rodimus asked. He watched as Rusti picked up her spilt water, her little body shaking just slightly.

"This . . . its name . . . old, old, old." The psychic collapsed back into her chair, awed. "Who would ever have known so much existed in the universe?" She bowed her head and laid her arms over the back of her neck, overcome with this revelation, "Oh, God! There's so much! So many things so much greater than we! And Primus remembers and the Matrix remembers . . . Rrogoche."

Rusti whimpered at the sound of the name and Rodimus caught her as she fainted. He glanced at 'Bloody Mary' and for the first time actually saw what Rusti had been describing all along. The woman looked hideous. Not even remotely Human. The puppet smiled at him and rotated her head a three-sixty.

"Aaggghh!" Ashlyn leapt from the table, nearly tripping over her chair. Tolomsky caught her and silently ordered the two guards to retain Mary from moving from her seat.

Rodimus cradled Rusti and silently departed the room. Marissa tagged behind saying nothing until they reached the cooler, quieter outside world.

"What was that all about? I've seen a lot of wild things in my life, but not someone spinning their head on their shoulders."

He waited until Rusti drew a deep breath and opened her eyes. "I don't really know, Marissa." he answered quietly. "I don't think I want to know. There are some things in the galaxy that are just better off not asking about. I think we're through here. Let's go home."

The afternoon crawled along at a snail's pace. The sunset found Rusti nestled in a safe, tiny corner in one of Fort Max's many housing complexes. She sat quietly watching the as the sun cast long lonely shadows around each structure. She held her drawing pad and a pencil and tried to draw the city as she saw it, the upper level/space port and the ground level, the winding roads that lead up and down between the two, the mountains peeking between the sky scrapers and the occasional Autobot in plane or jet mode zooming through the air. It wouldn't be much longer, she assumed, and her parents would come and try to claim her. She already decided she'd make it damn hard for them to just tell her to go to the car. They'd have to find her and chase her down first. She was not leaving Fort Max. Here she was safe. Here people listened to her. Here she didn't have to sleep in the closet to feel safe.

Someone peered round the corner and spotted her. Then his head disappeared and peered round the corner of the other side of the building. Then he disappeared from there, too and reappeared in one of the flight-entry tunnels just above her. Rusti really wasn't in the mood to smile but she couldn't help herself. Optimus was trying to play a game with her. He peered round the corner of the mid-section and she looked away, unable to keep from smiling.

He took a seat nearby and for the longest time, said nothing. They just sat and watched the sun slowly sink past the mountain ranges and drown in darkness. It had gotten cold, as even the late-spring nights do in the mountains.

"I heard the incident at the station didn't go very well." He spoke softly.

Had she not liked his voice so much, she probably would have asked him to be quiet. But as it was, he touched her in that subtle way and she couldn't help but respond in kind. "I saw her first. Her name isn't Bloody Mary. It's Josephine Pratt. She was a runaway at one time."

Silence. Rusti was glad Optimus didn't rush her, didn't press her to go here, or do this, to see that or sit there. None of that. He gave her as much time as she really needed. Then he spoke again. "You have the right idea. It's a nice evening."

"For idle conversation," she finished. She scowled and supposed she shouldn't judge him too harshly. After all, he had been taking time to take care of her. Perhaps all he wanted was a little talk.

She sighed heavily, "It was awful, Optimus. I thought I was going to die. I thought somehow, I had committed a crime and that . . . you and Roddi might never forgive me of it. Like those guys on the bikes. I killed them right on the spot. And I thought you knew about it and would never speak to me again because I murdered someone. And I hoped you would forgive me."

He said nothing for a long moment and Rusti almost thought he had nothing to say. "Rusti, how could I possibly be angry at you for defending yourself?" He asked softly.

She only shrugged, not caring whether or not he saw it.

Now he looked at her. "Did you kill the men because you hated them personally?"

"No."

"Ah. Did you kill them to take something from them?"

"No."

"Ah-huh. Did you kill them because, perhaps, you really felt they were going to kill you?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Sounds like self-defense to me."

She shrugged.

He shook his head. "Rusti . . . there is nothing you can do that would make me that angry at you."

She stared at him in surprise.

He saw the surprise and doubt and pointed south. "The California/Oregon border is that way, correct?"

"Yes."

He pointed North. "The Oregon/Washington border is that way, correct?"

"Yes."

He pointed west. "And the ocean is that way?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmhmm. You know those borders are there, but you don't see them. And if you don't see them, you know they're further away than a day's walk, right?" Again she gave him a shrug. "That is how much I care about you; more than the point of visibility. It's much bigger than you and if that's the case, how could I be indifferent toward you?"

She looked a bit downcast. But it was understandable from where he stood. He held his hands out to her. "Interested in a game of checkers? Perhaps some ice cream?" And to his own delight, he saw her smile and Optimus took that little smile and locked it tightly away.

Rusti woke the following day, greeting a soft sweet rain with a deep breath and a smile. She hugged her covers, so very glad to be Home. She sat up and glanced around her room, discovering what a mess it was.

"Max?" She called. "What time is it?"

"Pacific time: seven thirty-three."

"Is Optimus up?"

"Yes."

She got out of bed and slipped on her robe. "Is Roddi up?"

"Rodimus Prime is currently engaged."

That could mean anything from a social thing to an argument to something personal. Max was never permitted to tell a person exactly what other people were doing, no matter what it was. And he gave out information on a request-only basis.

Rusti visited the restroom and washed her face, noting with some relief that the cut she had gotten on the cycle didn't scar. She dressed and brushed her hair and put on new shoes Aunt Missy had to purchase for her since the pair she had were ruined by her 'visit' through the woods. She stood and stared down at the new tennies. They were cool; black and brown with a solid sole. She felt good in them. She brushed her hair again and straightened her white and blue knit sweater and left the room.

Brainstorm passed her by, keeping his steps light about her. Her mother would sometimes freak just thinking how a little girl could be so unfettered living in a city where the robots could so easily step on her and think of it as nothing more than walking on an insect. But the truth was, Autobots were just as aware of their Human companions as they were of each other. Size made no difference to an Autobot. They were small as well as large. Why should Humans be considered different?

Brainstorm suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and Arcana separated from the Autobot, transforming in mid air and landed gracefully on the floor in front of her. "Ah, Miss Witwicky!" He greeted smoothly. "Are you off to breakfast?"

"Yes." She answered. She didn't smile, but Arcana could see the light in her little face.

"Ah! I hear they're serving that nasty oatmeal again this morning. Would you care to join me in protest and demand something a little more substantial for a hungry Headmaster?"

Rusti giggled. "Just as long as you leave a little something for me!"

He was about turn then paused and seemed a little surprised. "Are you accusing me of over-eating, Miss Witwicky?"

"No." She replied a bit coyly. "But you guys DO eat."

"Oh." He paused again, glancing at his Headmaster partner then back again. "Must be the night life." He cordially held out his hand and she took it. The two walked around Brainstorm's car mode then Brainstorm himself turned in the hallway and followed them out to the EDC cafeteria.

Arcana proved to be just what he said he was: hungry. The chef on duty was horrified to find the Headmaster there cracking eggs, flipping pancakes and turning bacon over her precious stove. Arcana didn't mind. He cracked jokes about everything there-including the fact that the chef herself was underweight for a cook. Indignant, she tore off her apron and walked out. Obviously unconcerned, the Headmaster gabbed on about the cookware and the spotless kitchen, how there was so little build-up around the stove or corners in the whole kitchen they'd have to grease it up once in a while just to prove somebody actually used it.

Rusti ignored him for the most part, doing her job of mixing dough for biscuits and slicing fruit with a small knife. (He didn't like the idea of her using a knife at all, but she managed to convince him otherwise). And the Headmaster gabbed and joked on as they cleaned their mess and set the huge meal over a table close to the counter. Captain Dresmon and Pinpointer stopped by and humbly accepted Arcana's offer for breakfast. They also complained about the tasteless oatmeal and thought Arcana's crazy idea was the perfect way of protest. After all, they worked every bit as hard as their Autobot counterparts, they should be treated with a little dignity.

Rusti silently listened as they prattled on about missions to the moon or Mars for big companies in Japan, England and America. They talked about trade agreements with off-world industries such as Light Touch or Smat Enterprises who would come to Earth just to negotiate contracts for everything from manual labor, to building fortifications like space stations or off-planetary bases. Rusti wasn't sure, but somehow she believed all the paper work Op and Roddi did was far more than just scouting reports, energon consumption and personnel problems. Even after living in Autobot society all her life, Rusti found she still didn't fully understand how it functioned.

After breakfast, the girl returned to her room and donned her exo-suit. She knew with her recovery, Op and Roddi would have an excessive amount of paper work to catch up on. Not that absolutely no one else couldn't do it, but that the two Primes preferred to do it themselves. She supposed it made more sense; you can't know what's going on unless you're involved with it yourself.

She checked her red hair, making sure it would gather well enough for the helmet (having naturally curly hair had its advantages). Then she swiped her helmet and made her way down to the football field. Usually they would be out on their sparring time, playing and frolicking. To someone who knew very little about Fort Max, the Dinos might appear more as oversized puppies rather than sentient creatures. Optimus once tried to explain to her that the Matrix interpreted Earth Dinosaurs exactly as they were explained by her grandfather. The fact that the Dinobots weren't all that intelligent was a miscalculation of an alien entity trying to understand something beyond its experiences.

The Dingy Dinos greeted her heartily and made all the noises of five six year-olds discovering their favorite lost toy had just been found. Grimlock made the most noise, repeatedly saying how much he and the others missed the 'real' football-and Sludge kept trying to figure out why Rusti wouldn't play with them for the longest time.

She finally laughed and had to tell them she was sick.

They understood that and the string of questions came to an end. The girl divided them into two teams, as usual and Swoop was allowed the first kick off, sending he, Slag and Sludge up with the ball first.

Not that it got anywhere at all. Swoop transformed and caught the ball and flew in the wrong direction.

Greedy for the fact that the ball was the 'thing to have', Slag chased him down, transforming and jumping high enough to catch the Pterodactyl and drag him back to Earth. The two snipped and argued over the ball just before Sludge came barging between them and grabbed the ball from Slag's outstretched hand and ran in the right direction (for once). That roused Swoop's and Snarl's ire and they charged after him and kept charging long after Sludge tossed the ball to Grimlock. Sludge went down under Slag's weight.

Grimlock started to stride the field when Snarl went for him, plowing head first into the Dinobot leader's middle. The ball slipped from Grimlock's hand, but Snarl paid no attention to it as they went down in a tumble of arms and legs.

Rusti moaned and went for the ball herself, finding she and Swoop were the only two not currently engaged. "You guys are hopeless!" She shouted over the interpersonal comline.

"Me Grimlock not hopeless." The tyrannosaur corrected. "Me, Grimlock only helpless."

She waited, ball in hand while Slag realized Sludge did not have the ball after all. Rusti waved the ball to get the Dinobot's attention then wiggled a finger for him to come get her.

Bad idea. She watched him charge right for her, resembling a ten-ton steer riding the ground like a steam train over rugged tracks. She tossed the ball in Snarl's direction, glad that Slag was indeed aiming for the ball, not for her. He swung a hard left and crashed into Grimlock and Snarl as they still wrestled.

Rusti saw movement at the corner of her eyes and spotted Optimus and her case worker . . . Lace something. She didn't know how long they had been standing there watching, but she knew she should go to them and find out if they expected her to join them. That was usually the case with Optimus. He always gave people time to obey a command before being told to do it.

"Guys?" She called to her playmates. "I have to go talk to Optimus. I'll be back after a while, okay?"

The Dinos suddenly stopped sparing and all stared at her with hurt feelings. She was sorry, but Optimus was waiting.

"Tomorrow. I promise." She swore. "I absolutely promise."

None of them said a thing, but she felt sad that she had to leave them again so soon. Poor things. Perhaps she was the only one who remembered to play with them!

Rusti showered and dressed and met Optimus and Lace in his office. They were both very polite to her, but she still felt nervous, worried that something might have occurred to force her back with her parents. She frowned and kept her eyes on the floor.

Lace started first, drawing papers out of a briefcase and taking a moment to study Rusti's fearful little form. "I'm glad you chose to come to us, Rusti." She didn't sound as cheerful as she probably should have. "We have a great deal to discuss before the hearing."

Now the girl stared at her case worker. Then she looked at Optimus. "What's . . . what's that mean?"

"Rules." Optimus answered flatly.

"And a lot of them." Lace added. "If you do win the case, and are permitted to stay here under Prime's guardianship, a contract must be drawn between you and Douglas County."

Rusti studied Lace's serious expression for a long moment then nodded. Lace read from the paper in her hands: "First of all, you must agree to the school programs. You will do your homework and agree to keep a good grade average. This includes summer school as necessary.'

'You will agree to return to Fortress Maximus every day

after school. If you wish to go elsewhere, you must attain written permission from Optimus or Rodimus and submit the slip to the county. You will agree to all rules imposed on you by the county school system, including those of the dress code, attendance code, hallway pass requests and homework assignments."

Lace paused and stared at Rusti who still concentrated on her. The case worker found this ordeal a bit extraordinary; a nine year-old who seemed far older than she actually was. Rusti had such great potential. "Did you have any questions, Rusti?" She asked hesitantly.

Rusti thought for a moment, digesting all the information. The rules seemed so strict, seeming so demanding of her time in school. "Does that mean I'd have to go to school on Saturdays?"

"No."

She hesitated another moment. "They're not happy that I ran away, are they?"

Lace smiled kindly at her. "Hon, I think they understand the circumstances of your decision. No one is mad at you for running away. They just want to make sure that you carry on, no matter what happens. The rules are made to ensure that you carry out a deal, that's all. By running away, you've proven you're old enough to make decisions for yourself on a level not usually held for a nine year-old."

A memory flashed at the girl and she remembered a face and how it told her she was twelve. No, she was fifteen. No, something about the time lines being all wrong. But how could she be three ages at once?

"Hmm?" Lace leaned over a little as though she couldn't quite hear.

Rusti frowned at herself. She sure had a hard time keeping her mouth shut! "Nothing." She brushed. "I can do this." She agreed meaning the rules. "I know I have to do summer school because I've been so sick lately."

Optimus finally spoke. "I'm glad you're agreeing to this, Rusti. They will ask you a lot of personal questions you might not want to answer."

She glanced from Optimus to Lace. "Hearing? You mean I'm going on a trial?"

"It's not a trial." Lace corrected. "A hearing is a private meeting between two sides and the judge. There will be no jury as yet. If the situation gets ugly, that is if someone sues someone else for damages or other, then it might turn into a trial. But we're here for custody and that seldom goes that far."

"But, Optimus said they'd be asking me a lot of questions." Rusti felt chilled just thinking about how she'd have to sit in a court room and tell everyone about Brian and how her parents did nothing about him.

"In a hearing, both sides have lawyers there to present case and evidence for each side. A judge does all the permanent decisions."

"And what if what the judge decides the wrong thing? What if he makes me stay with my folks?"

_Not without a fight._ Optimus sent. His abrupt thoughts sent goose bumps down Rusti's back and she shivered.

"Well," Lace came back, "Then we'll appeal the decision to a family court of law. If there is enough evidence to prove neglect or abuse, I'm sure you'll win."

But Lace's words weren't very reassuring. Rusti nodded silently. _It's scary,_ she sent.

Optimus mentally Wrapped himself warmly about her and she closed her eyes and took in the comfort. He and Roddi weren't going to let her go without a fight.

Lace expected the girl to reply or ask another question but Rusti merely closed her eyes, remaining disturbingly silent. Optimus stared at her, his optics dimming. Something was going on between them and the case worker felt a little nervous, really hoping it was nothing detrimental. But Rusti didn't seem to be in any distress; quite the opposite. All it meant was that there was a definite connection between them. And from Rusti's relaxed expression, Lace deduced the girl would go to hell if so commanded just so she could live here.

The courthouse was huge, almost as tall as Central Command in Fort Max. But the building looked old and worn. Cracks in the walls betrayed its age despite the fresh paint job. Rusti labored up the stairs with Aunt Missy as and Optimus and Roddi followed.

Rusti spotted her family already waiting in a pew. Dezi and Netty chattered on while Daniel sat with his arms across his chest. Rusti hesitated at the door and laid her hand over her own chest. She exchanged a wary expression with Marissa who sent her a wry smile.

"It's one of those instances where you have to have courage, Hon." She said. They veered right and Marissa directed the girl to sit first. Rusti looked straight ahead and hoped her family would not shout at her. Footsteps entered her ear-her mother's footsteps she bent over and covered her face, not wanting to face Netty.

"Hi Marissa." Netty greeted.

"Hi, Netty." Marissa kept her voice light and cordial. "How's everything?"

"We-we're doing okay."

"That's good."

"Are we allowed to talk to Resonna?"

"I don't see why not."

Rusti gathered her courage and sat up and looked at her mom. Netty saw what was left of scratches and cuts on her daughter's face. She saw the dressing on Rusti's arms and tried to control her tears. "Hi, Hon." She bravely greeted. "Are you okay?"

Rusti dumbly nodded.

"We-we've been so worried about you!" She wanted to ask why the girl ran away, but remembered that was forbidden. She sent her little girl another smile. "We can talk later, I suppose, hu?"

Again Rusti nodded silently and knew her silence drove her mother mad.

Netty withdrew to the comforts of her husband's arm. The two whispered for a while, their words sometimes peaked in irritation, but then fell soft again. Rusti assumed they were talking about her, perhaps arguing.

Marissa turned to her. "You will be called to the stand to answer questions, Rusti. Just tell them what you know and nothing more."

"What about the thing that chased me through the forest?" She whispered

Marissa hesitated. She remembered her grandmother once telling her of a time when such things would be dismissed as nonsense. "Only if you're asked about it." She answered carefully.

The bailiff approached the judge's stand: "All rise. Court is now in session. Judge Volmers now presiding."

A chill snaked down Rusti's back when she glanced back and found Optimus and Roddi sitting silently. Rusti shivered with cold, her stomach tied in knots as she turned back. A kind warmth touched her back then wrapped all around her and Rusti closed her eyes for a moment as she sat down.

_It will be alright._ Optimus promised.

Volmers slipped on a pair of specs while he ran his eyes over notes on his desktop. "This is Douglas county Vs. Witwicky. Can-can I see who's whom here? Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky?" He waited for them to raise their hands. "Oh, good. Okay. Is, is that your daughter Resonna there with you?"

"No." Netty spoke first. "This is my eldest daughter Dezi."

"Okay. And where's Res . . . he saw Marissa sitting with the other girl. "Okay, there you are. You are Resonna Witwicky, right?" He waited for her to nod and picked up a piece of paper. "Good. While your respective lawyers are in a meeting I'll just go over a few things. First, I want to stay on topic, here. And that topic is basically to prove whether or not Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky are responsible enough to handle their nine year-old-are you nine, Resonna?"

She nodded.

"Hmm, hmm. That's good." He paused again. "Now, there are several charges of neglect and abuse here on my notes, the least of which is failure to report destruction of property and failure to report child abuse in the home by another member in the family. But we will hear all sides of the story here shortly."

As he finished, the defense and plaintiff lawyers stepped into the room between the two silent robots and took their respective places.

Volmers flipped a couple of papers over and scribbled something down. "Whenever the two of you are ready, we would like to hear your opening statements."

The Defense was permitted her statement first. She strolled to the front of the room, her pen-striped, close-fitting dress softly hissed with her movements. "I'd like to state on the record that the Witwickys were not asked permission to place their daughter in the custody of Optimus Prime. Nor were they permitted to see Resonna upon her rescue as of May ninth."

Volmers cleaned his glasses and nodded to the stenographer. "So noted." He grunted.

The Defense turned to the two residing groups. "I'd like to point out a few things before we begin the hearing. I know the situation has been very stressful, perhaps more so for Resonna's parents who have been very concerned for her, but not nearly as much as it has been for their little girl. Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky love their little girl. They want her home. They want her to share their lives, their goals and dreams. Their good times, their triumphs over bad moments. They want to see her grow up a beautiful, intelligent young woman, full of promise and hope. They want to see her try on that dress for her senior prom. They want to teach her how to drive a car. They want to wave good-bye as she leaves their little nest for college. These are all the little things that families do with their children. It is no different with the Witwickys. They want the chance to prove their worthiness to love and care for their little girl. And by the time this hearing is over, we hope to accomplish just that."

The Plaintiff took to her feet and strolled toward the witness stand. "As my esteemed and regarded colleague mentioned in the beginning, this whole situation has indeed been very stressful for the whole family, for Rusti in particular." Here she nodded toward Rusti. "This little girl has repeatedly cried out for help. But her cries have fallen on the deaf ears of most of the adult figures around her. She has suffered through more in the past few weeks than some people do their entire lives. Yet, she has remained steadfast in will. It is not that she does not love her family. It is not that she wishes to abandon them. But for reasons we should like to explain in this hearing, Rusti has some very legitimate grounds for requesting she live under the custody and care of the Autobots. This request is not asked lightly. It is not done to spite her family. But for the sake of her health and her personal safety, she asks the court award her the legal right to live where she chooses."

The Plaintiff returned to her seat and entered something in a digipad. The room fell silent just then. The Defense whispered something back and forth with Netty then fell quiet.

Rusti held herself and closed her eyes. Anything, just anything could go wrong about now!

Volmers flipped another piece of paper and scribbled over it. "Since Plaintiff was last up, Defense is permitted first witness, if any."

Defense took to her feet. "I have, Your Honor. I'd like to call Dezi Witwicky to the stand."

The judge nodded.

Dezi made her way over and swore to then took the stand. Defense smiled in greeting. "Thank you, Dezi, for taking time out."

"It's okay."

"Dezi, describe your home life."

Dezi shrugged. "I have a sister and a brother. We go to school. I study. Resonna studies-"

"Resonna?" Defense cut. "Could you point her out here?"

"There, in the lavender top and jeans."

"Thank you. Continue"

"Mom and Dad both work. Sometimes they're not home until late and I have to take charge."

"So . . . you are responsible for the house when they're not home. Is that a safety guard, Dezi?"

The teenager shrugged. "I guess."

"And do you have procedures in case of emergencies?"

"We have a list of people to call."

"And, Dezi, could you tell us who that might be?"

Dezi pointed right. "My Aunt Delphra. Aunt Missy."

"Aunt Delphra? So if there's a real problem and your folks aren't home, you are instructed to call Aunt Delphra?"

Dezi nodded. "Or Aunt Missy if Aunt Delphra isn't home."

Defense protruded her lower lip and nodded. "Dezi, would you say your folks are fair?"

Dezi's eyes darted from her folks to the two Primes to Rusti then back to Defense. She looked down and shrugged.

"You . . . don't think they're fair?"

"Define 'fair'."

Defense eyed her. "Ahhmm, do they discipline you when you're wrong?"

"Yes."

"Do they . . . reward you when you do something extraordinarily good?"

Dezi had to nod at that one, too. "'cept Brian." She muttered.

"What was that?" Defense caught.

"Except Brian." Dezi said loudly.

Defense smiled lightly. "Well, that's an entirely different subject right now. I just want you to tell us about your home life."

She looked away again, unable to say anything more. She knew if she said anything at all, she'd get it good later.

"Do you like living at home?"

Again Dezi shrugged.

"You spend some nights at a girlfriend's house, don't you, Dezi?"

She nodded with that one.

"And your parents don't have a problem with that, do they?"

She shook her head.

"Good. Defense rests, Your Honor."

Volmers pointed at Dezi with his hand. "Does the Prosecution have questions?"

"Yes, Your Honor, we do." And the Plaintiff rounded her table and marched toward Dezi. "Dezi, is it true you found Rusti sleeping in her closet on a few occasions?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" Defense cried out. "Plaintiff did not use subjects true name."

Plaintiff turned to Volmers. "Your Honor, the Prosecution is aware that the subject's name is not on trial here and prefers to be called 'Rusti'."

Volmers gazed at the little nine year-old girl with thick locks of curly red hair. He looked back at Plaintiff. "I don't see a problem with it. Objection overruled. Prosecution continue."

"Dezi, is it true you have found Rusti sleeping in her closet on a few occasions?"

"Yes."

"And can you tell us more about that?"

"She doesn't do it when Mom and Dad are around. She knows she'd get into trouble."

"And did Rusti tell you why she slept in the closet?"

"She was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" The lawyer turned and paced away,

"I don't know, exactly. Of lots of things. Mostly of Brian."

"Yes!" Plaintiff swung around, staring at Dezi again. "Can you tell us about Brian?"

Dezi shrugged. "He's a deadhead. Always dragging his friends over and he stays out past curfew and he brings drugs into the house."

"And do your parents know about this?"

"I've told them about it."

Defense stood. "Objection, Your Honor. Brian's extra curricular activities have nothing to do with this trial."

Plaintiff turned around. "On the contrary, Your Honor, they are one of the main reasons Rusti is requesting relocation. I ask the court to be patient."

Volmers scratched something else down. "Objection overruled." He muttered.

"So, Dezi, you think Brian is the main reason, or one of the main reasons Rusti fears living at home. Can you give us an example or two?"

Dezi couldn't look her parents in the eye, now. She meekly nodded. "While Mom and Dad were gone, Brian brought a couple of friends over and they thrashed the house. Rusti came home before me. I came in hearing him scream at her and when I walked through the front door, I saw him hit her. Then he came for me but I threw him through the living room window."

Plaintiff nodded. "Why, do you think, he attacked the two of you?"

"Because of a package that he had hidden in the house."

"A package? What package, Dezi?"

"It . . . was a small box wrapped in brown paper and addressed to someone in L.A."

"Do you know what it was? Do you know what was in the box?"

Dezi nodded. "Six vials of 'joys'. DNA samples. A baby's heart encased in dry ice."

The room fell terribly silent before Plaintiff moved again. "Dezi, how do you know it was a baby's heart? Or DNA sample?"

'Cause there was a note in the box."

And you found it in the house?"

"Yes."

"And what did you do with the box?"

"I gave it to someone for safe keeping."

"Did you know Brian was going to tear the house up to get it?"

"Yes."

"But you did it anyway. Why?"

"To teach him a lesson. To teach him that I don't want his shit around me and Resonna."

"Why didn't you go to your folks?"

Dezi was quiet a moment, deciding. "They live in la-la land. They know Brian's a deadhead, but they won't admit it. And they don't want to admit that he's a danger to the family."

"So you took the situation into your hands."

"Yes."

"And that afternoon, when you walked into the house and saw your brother hit your sister, and you threw him out the window, what happened after that?"

"I told Resonna to run away because Brian's friends were coming at me."

"You . . . purposefully told your sister to run away."

"Yes."

"Did you know where she would go?"

"Yes."

"And where was that, Dezi?"

"To Fort Max."

"Why . . . of all places, why to Fort Max? Why not to Aunt Delphra?"

"Because she feels safe there."

Again silence descended the courtroom. Then Plaintiff took a deep sigh. "Dezi, I'd like to ask you one more question, just a simple question: Did your parents punish Brian for torturing your little sister when he poured boiling water over her exposed backside?"

"No."

"Thank you, Dezi. No further questions, your Honor."

Volmers nodded. "Does Defense wish a cross-examination?"

"Defense rests, Your Honor."

"Plaintiff, any witnesses?"

"Your Honor, I would like to ask Rusti Witwicky to the stand."

Her chest tightened and she stood as Marissa slipped out the pew for her. Rusti made her way to the stand and swallowed hard as she sat down. But she couldn't look anyone in the eye.

_You'll be fine, Lady-friend._ Roddi promised.

She looked up and took heart knowing the two Primes were watching her closely for any signs of over stressing. The Plaintiff shuffled a few papers and whispered something to her assistant then came to the stand.

"Hi, Rusti." She greeted.

Rusti smiled only a little.

"Rusti, tell us something about your life. Just so we might see things from your point of view."

She had no idea what to say! "I'm . . . nine years old. I go to school. I . . . like to draw and . . . live at Fort Max."

"No horses?" The Plaintiff asked off the bat.

Rusti shook her head.

Silence, like the distant drumming of an approaching army thrummed through the room. Then the Plaintiff paced away, turned and crossed her arms, staring at Rusti. "Rusti, would you tell the court what this is all about? Explain to everyone why you ran away, why you slept in the closet, or that you fainted on a number of occasions at school?"

She hesitated then scanned the room until her eyes rested on Marissa. "I've been sick. But nobody believes me."

"Sick? Like the flue or a cold?"

"No."

The Plaintiff paced the area before the stand once. "Rusti, do you think your life is in danger if you stay home with your folks?"

"Yes."

The Plaintiff leaned against the witness stand and stared compassionately at the girl. She was clearly scared. The Plaintiff nodded toward Rusti's left arm. "Can you tell me where you got that, Hon?"

Rusti shrugged. "School."

"The school gave that to you? It looks nasty."

"No. Brian gave it to me."

"Brian was at your school?"

Rusti nodded. "The school was attacked by men and their puppets. Everybody was dying. This guy was going to kill me but I got away from him and ran into Brian. He wanted me to join the Doppelgangers and when I said no, he shot me with a needle."

Plaintiff paused a moment, making two strides to her table. She swept up a sealed bag with a hypodermic needle in it. "With this, Rusti? Does this look familiar?"

The girl stared at the object and cringed. "I don't know what it looked like, there were no lights in the hallway. I just know that he stabbed me with a needle."

Plaintiff nodded and handed the bag to the bailiff. "Your Honor, I'd like to submit the hypo as People's Evidence Number One."

"So noted." Volmers agreed.

"Rusti," the Plaintiff turned back around, "did your parents know about this?"

"I don't know."

"And did you go straight home after this incident?"

"No."

The Plaintiff went to her table and swept up a plastic bag containing a piece of paper. "Did you write this, Rusti? Is this your writing?"

"Yes."

"This is a runaway note, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"The day the school was attacked you were planning to run away from home. Is that correct?"

"Yes. But I didn't get to Fort Max."

"Not for several days, is that right?"

"Yes."

Plaintiff paused and scratched her forehead. "Rusti, how did you escape the attack at school?"

"I don't know."

"What happened after Brian stabbed you with the needle?"

"I don't know."

"How did you end up in the city?"

"I-" she glanced down, "I don't know."

"You have no memory whatsoever as to how you escaped the school and ended up lost in Central City."

"I remember Brian shooting something into me. I remember my body feeling angry. There was a lot of pain. There was bright light and I tried to run into it. I ran and I just kept running. And I found myself running down sidewalks and in front of stores and I couldn't stop running. And the next thing I know, I'm sitting in an ally, behind some cement stairs. The building across from me was watching me. The lady on the wall said something to me, but I don't remember what it was now."

"What lady, Rusti?"

"A lady was raped there once. But she's been dead for quite some time."

"So . . . you wake up in an alley and find you're not where you're supposed to be. What happened then?"

"Some people picked me up. But they weren't people."

"Aliens, Rusti?"

"I don't think so. I think I was hallucinating."

"And what makes you say that, Hon?"

"Because a Princess picked me up and I rode in a car full of demons and imps."

Plaintiff was quiet again. "That must have been some ride."

"Do you want me to tell you about the cyberwraith, or the ladybug?"

Plaintiff smiled and held up the note. "I'd like to enter Item One as evidence, Your Honor."

"So noted."

Plaintiff turned back to the girl. "One more thing, Rusti: why did you want to run to Fort Max?"

"Cause Optimus and Roddi were there."

"You think they were going to take care of you?"

She nodded.

"You think they would protect you from your brother?"

"Yes."

"No other questions at this time, Your Honor, but I would like the opportunity to call Rusti back to the stand later."

"Noted. Does the Defense wish to cross-examine the witness?"

"We do, Your Honor."

Rusti tried to swallow a lump in her throat and she gazed at Optimus and Roddi who remained still as statues, not making a sound or a move. It seemed a bit eerie watching them just sit there in the back of the room, not so much as twitching. The girl felt cold and clammy all over. Her pulse raised slightly. She did not want to go through with this!

The Defense approached with a smile that was neither friendly, nor evil. "Resonna, right?"

"Hmm?"

"Your birth name is 'Resonna.'"

"Yes."

"But you have abandoned it in favor of this other name. Why is that?"

Rusti shrugged. "It's . . . just not me."

"Hmm, Hmm. So, Resonna, if I might use your real name. Do you know the Third Commandment: Honor thy father and thy mother?"

Rusti batted her eyes, surprised something like that should be thrown in her face. "Does that mean I'm a bad person because I'm not honoring my parents?"

"Think about it this way, where are your priorities? If the Autobots are so important, important enough for you to disobey your own parents, what does that say about you? Does it matter whether or not they want you? Does it matter whether or not they love you at all? How about this, Resonna, on several occasions, which I have documented on paper, you have knowingly and willfully skipped class. Your parents have tried to help you. They've sent you to specialists and doctors. But you've always insisted on doing things contrary to their wishes. Is that honoring your parents?"

Plaintiff stood and balked. "Your Honor, I object. This is out right emotional manipulation of my client!"

Volmers leaned forward. "Yvonn, what are you doing? The Third Commandment? What is this?"

Defense turned to him. "Sir, request permission to approach the bench."

Volmers threw his hands in the air. "For cryin' out loud! This is not a trial, here!" He paused while the two women stared at him. "Yes, for pity's sake! Come and talk!"

_I'm hungry._ Rusti sent. She could not look at her parents at all.

_I know, Rusti._ Optimus returned gently.

She watched the two lawyers interact with the judge who would softly raise his voice on one point and tap a pen in the air on another. Defense was very physical about what she had to say and finally Volmers held his hands out as though to protect himself from her. Then their little meeting broke and Defense came back to Rusti.

She paused a long moment, staring down at the floor as though not knowing what to say. "Resonna, what is the real reason for leaving home?"

She stared at the woman, unsure how to explain the problem. "I . . . I just feel better when I'm in Fort Max. I don't have to wake up in the middle of the night when Brain tries to sneak in. I just want to feel good again."

"Are you saying your parents abuse you, Resonna?"

"No."

"Are you saying they don't get you what you want, or buy you clothes?"

"No."

"And are you saying that they aren't feeding you or giving you medication when you're sick?"

"No."

"Then what's the matter?"

She was stumped. Everything the Defense said made sense. Her parents, naturally, provided everything she needed. She had clothes and toys and food (when she could eat) but . . . "Something's just missing. I always have headaches and something keeps me from breathing."

"You've been to a doctor. And they all seem to think there's nothing wrong with you. However, the school counselor seemed to think the problem is you; that maybe you're making yourself sick? Hmm?"

Rusti didn't like the way the woman stared at her. And she felt ashamed of herself for being such a fool. They would never in a million years believe her. Not even when she passed out in the principal's office. Not when she couldn't breathe. So she shrugged, unable to defend herself with that bit of logic.

"Psycho-semantic distress." Defense turned away from the girl and faced the rest of those occupying the room. "That means that a person makes themselves ill if wants and desires are not met. It's an unconscious way of attaining attention. And this is just my point. Resonna could not be 'sick' in the real sense. She's sick because her mind tells her that's how she can get what she wants." Defense had caught Rodimus staring daggers at her and she turned away. "No further questions, Your Honor."

The room paused in terrible silence while Volmers scratched something on his note pad. He glanced at his watch. "Geeze louise. Two P.M. I think we'll take an hour break here and continue at ten after three. I would appreciate it if no one spoke to any reporters outside this room. Thank you." And he struck the gavel on the stand and quickly departed.

Rusti slowly slid off the chair, feeling weak and shaky. She felt very much ashamed, unable to look anyone in the eye. Was it true that all this time she had been lying? Was it true that she was responsible for her own problems? That maybe she was making the whole thing up? Was she, in fact, really in the wrong? What about Brian? She noticed how no one mentioned Brian-except their own attorney. And if she was forced to go home that night, it meant she might have to face him. Though no one said where he was today. At school, perhaps, out on bail.

She slowly made her way back to Marissa who handed her coat over. Guilt ate into Rusti and upset her stomach. Aunt Missy didn't say anything to her. Perhaps Defense had said something that made Missy believe her; that Rusti was the one doing all these things to herself. Optimus and Roddi said nothing, either. She couldn't look anyone in the eye. She padded her way to the exit, hugging her coat tightly as she wordlessly passed Optimus. She didn't see the two Primes exchange worried looks.

Rodimus followed her out first, then Optimus.

"Hey, guys!" Daniel called from the other exit way. Rodimus froze first so that Optimus passed him and stood closer to Rusti. Daniel stomped up in his exo-suite, his face a mask of contempt. "You know, I just thought I'd catch up and thank you."

"For what, Daniel?" Roddi kept his voice level.

"Turning my own child against me."

"Ohh." Roddi's tone did not change. He set one fist on his hip, and pointed to the ceiling with the other hand. "Well, I'd gladly take the gratitude, Danno, but there's a problem. I'm not the guilty party."

"No?" Daniel sneered.

"No. See, the guy you're looking for, I think you'll find him tomorrow morning-in your bathroom mirror."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and Rusti just had to turn away before his face would turn horrible beet-red. Someone came down the hallway from the other end.

"Did I miss anything?"

Rusti lost her breath. It was Delphra, but not Delphra. It looked only similar to her; a twin made of wood, with painted eyes and wooden limbs. The girl couldn't swallow and she began to freak.

Delphra stared right at her. "What's the matter, Resonna?" She asked innocently.

It was a scream that could not be sounded and oh, how she wished she could scream! Her body suddenly felt as though she had been plunged in ice and the world turned blurry and dim and it was all she remembered.

A soft tapping sound like that of a keyboard greeted her when Rusti woke. She opened her eyes and found herself in her room, warmly covered and the blinds and curtains drawn. Optimus towered above her, his entire concentration focused on the digipad between his hands.

"Seems the party never stops at your place, eh, Rusti?" He asked softly.

She tried to say something, but when she did, it only came out as a pathetic whisper: "I'm sorry." she felt very ashamed of herself. She did it again; reacting and forcing herself sick.

"I do not want you, for a moment, to believe anything that bitch said in court earlier today. That's an order." Optimus growled.

The fact that he cussed threw her for a loop. It was so seriously seldom she ever heard a bad word spoken by him. Optimus was usually the last person on the planet to say something mean about someone else. But apparently the Defense angered him to that point. "'Kay." Her voice quivered.

He set the pad down and examined her for a long moment. Her hand slipped out and lay on the coverlet. He slipped his finger under her hand and held it for a long moment. "We're not giving up, Rusti. I won't loose you without a fight."

She didn't know how to respond. She couldn't decide whether or not to tell him what she saw. She just laid there and wearily closed her eyes, wondering what her life was going to be like in another year or two.

"What happened, Rusti?" He asked softly. "What did you see?"

"Whaddya mean?" She asked in turn.

"You screamed. You saw something. What was it?"

"Aunt Delphra."

"Yes. But . . ." Here Optimus withdrew his hand and flinched. "Rusti? What did you see?"

"A Doppelganger, Optimus. She's one of them."

"And she and Brian both have access to the city. And access to the space ports. And they are not cleared when coming or going from Autobot City."

Rusti's eyes grew heavy with sleep and she snuggled under her covers.

"Rodimus?" Prime called on the intercom. He received an internal answer and pulled the blankets a little more closely to Rusti's chin. "I think we may have our shipping Connection. Send Streetwise and Hot Spot to the space docks. Have them check every ship. Turn them inside out if they need to." He bent over closely and Rusti relaxed under the power of his presence. "I have to go right now, Rusti." He said softly. "I will be back later. Try to get some rest."

She forced her eyes open only momentarily and forced her face to smile. "I'll still be here, Optimus." She promised.

He rose and left the room with a final reluctant glance. He just wanted to stay.

Tolomsky sat at the witness stand. He seemed so much older, now. The stresses of events had driven him into a haggard, exhausted state and he had already demanded of his superiors a month's vacation when all was said and done. But they gave him no promises and the police chief, always one to take matters into his own hands, had already sent several applications to other small town police departments. He'd quit his present job if he had to just to get that month-long vacation. He wasn't going to allow bureaucrats to deny him anything. He worked too hard, too long and saw too much to be denied a few breaks.

Right now, however, Tolomsky fulfilled a promise to a little girl. She looked pale, frightened. And he really wanted to drag her folks through a keyhole for putting her through this. The Defense was a good looking broad, but probably had the vocabulary of a gnat. The Prosecution wasn't bad looking, either. But he knew she had three kids. Besides, his own wife was very devoted and loving and she'd have his favorite ice cream in the freezer tonight.

That was his only comfort.

Defense approached him first. "Chief Tolomsky, are you aware of the situation here at hand?"

"Not all of it." He grunted. "I know enough not to be happy about it. I know enough to be glad I'm not a case worker."

"What do you know?"

"That the little girl should be someplace other than with her parents."

"Do you think her parents are abusing her?"

He paused, pursing his lips indecisively. "Not directly. I think they're endangering her life."

"So you think a robot can better take care of a little girl than her own parents?"

"I didn't say that." Tolomsky longed to munch on a sunflower seed. "I just said they're endangering her life."

"Have you ever seen Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky raise a hand to any of their children?"

"Yes, but he didn't hit her."

She stared at him, obviously horrified she had asked the wrong question. She turned away. "No further questions, Your Honor."

Plaintiff took her place and leaned against the witness stand. "Chief Tolomsky, do you know my client?"

"Yeah."

"Can you point her out?"

"The gorgeous young lady there in the left row, about third pew back." He winked at Rusti.

"And how do you know her?"

"She was taken into my station the day the terrorists attacked all the city busses and killed a hundred and twenty people. Miss Witwicky there was one of three people to survive the slaughter. Bad day."

"And do you know why she was on a city bus?"

"Yeah. Well, at first I didn't. At first I didn't know who she was and we were going to pump her for questions regarding the terrorists. Then she started crying, babbling on about how her home had been ransacked and her brother had attacked her and she was rescued when her sister came in and shoved him head first out the window."

"Did you find or notify her folks of the incident?"

"We tried to reach them but found out later they were somewhere in Oklahoma. Her Aunt Delphra was somewhere in Nevada or other."

"And how did you feel when you learned Dezi was left alone with her siblings for the weekend?"

"What? She's older than fifteen, isn't she? Smart cookie. She's a very capable girl. Anyone who's willing ta toss her own relations out a window for being jerks should be on my police force, not worming through books."

"When, exactly, were you notified that Rusti had runaway from home?"

"Not until two days after the attack on the school. Maybe sooner. I don't know exactly. I don't handle missing persons department."

"So, it's not really your call as to what gets done when someone turns up missing?"

Tolomsky leaned forward. "Ma'am, I had a whole shitload of other things to worry about. My reserves are stretched so badly, I'm having to turn every other county in Oregon to help cover the situation. The disappearance of one little girl is of all things, the least of my worries. That doesn't mean I wouldn't 've gone out and looked for her if I could. I'm just saying that at the time, I simply did not have the manpower."

Plaintiff nodded and strolled away. "Chief, were you notified the moment she was found?"

"Not the exact moment, no."

"And when were you finally notified?"

"I dunno. About an hour or two later. Rodimus informed me after he talked to her folks."

"Are you aware of the condition in which she was found?"

"No. But I've heard things and I've talked to Dr. Hanson who treated her."

Plaintiff paused then turned back to Tolomsky. "Chief, would you consider the Autobots, Optimus/Rodimus Prime in particular, qualified to act as Rusti's legal guardians?"

Tolomsky shrugged. "They got all the resources and help they need right there at Fort Max. If the girl ever got in trouble, I know they'd be right there for her. I know how they are around her. Yeah, I'd say they're very much qualified."

"So, in your opinion, do you think Optimus Prime should be awarded physical custody of Rusti Witwicky?"

He paused for a very brief moment: "yeah, I think so."

"No further questions, Your Honor."

Tolomsky stepped down from the witness stand and Delphra was called up.

Defense smiled but did not do more than stand from her table. "Miss . . . Lockeed, what relations are you to the family?"

"Sister to Netty Witwicky. Aunt to her children."

"Are you currently married?"

"No."

"Employed?"

"Yes."

"And you are the person the children are to call when they are in trouble."

"Yes."

"Did . . . Resonna ever call you the day the house had been ransacked?"

"No."

"Were you aware of the incident involving Brian Witwicky and the severe burns he administered to his youngest sister using boiling water?"

"Not until after it happened."

"Did someone call you at that point?"

"No. I stopped by."

"You stopped by. Why?"

"I check in on the children periodically. If I know their parents are going to be gone for a while, I always try to see to it that everything is on the up and up."

"But you were not available the weekend Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky took off for Florida."

"No. But the children are instructed to also call Captain Marissa Fairborn if there is a problem."

"Okay. So you felt that all was covered."

"Yes."

"Do you think the Autobots, Optimus or Rodimus Prime in particular, are fit guardians for Resonna, even for the sake of her personnel safety?"

"No."

"And, precisely why is that?"

"Well, they're machines. What could they know about Humans and their developmental needs?"

Defense nodded and paced back to her table. "So you feel that because the Autobots are aliens, they could not possibly understand human needs and frailties."

"Yes."

"Do . . . you have anything against the Autobots, Miss Lockeed?"

"No. I merely doubt they're qualified to care for a little nine year-old girl."

"What about the EDC side of Fort Max? Aren't there people who come and go constantly?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't they be qualified?"

Delphra paused for a moment. "They cannot be Netty and Daniel. And the EDC branch in Fort Max is a business district, last I heard."

"Thank you, Miss Lockeed. Defense rests, Your Honor."

"Granted. Plaintiff?"

"Thank you, Your Honor." Plaintiff took to her feet, a few papers in her hand. "Tell us, Miss Lockeed, you and Miss Witwicky have been around the Autobots pretty much all your lives, am I right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that is to say that the two of you once lived in Metroplex years ago when it was stationed here in Oregon prior to the arrival of Fort Max."

"Yes."

"And then there were circumstances that forced an emergency evacuation of Metroplex-could you tell us in your own words exactly what had happened to Metroplex in the late spring of 2012?"

Delphra looked rather puzzled. She glanced at the two silent Primes then at the judge then at her sister. She did not want to answer the question, but no one objected to it, either. She looked down, peeling her eyes off the world around her. "Netty and me were nine and ten years old then. Our parents both worked in EDC, hoping eventually to get us stationed at moonbase. I-we lived in Metroplex all our lives."

"Did you feel you were any different from any other child who did not live in Metroplex?"

"No."

"Please continue."

"There was a terrible alarm and evacuation orders were called out. My father was out working on the dam. My mother, Netty and me were home baking cookies. The . . . alarm sounded but not soon enough. We heard bombs and people screaming outside and guns sounding off. Mother tried to contact Dad to find out what was going on. Someone banged on our door and mother went to open it and this . . . seven-foot Decepticon stomped in and . . . and he killed her." Delphra wasn't looking at anybody at that moment. Her head remained bowed, the fingers of her hand pressed hard against her temple.

Defense sighed. "Objection, Your Honor, I do not see the relevance."

"Your Honor, if the court would be patient-"

"We are in a hearing, Yvonn. Not on trial."

The Plaintiff turned from them back to Delphra. "Miss Lockeed, would you say that in spite of the terrible Decepticon attack on Metroplex, that it was still a safe place to live?"

"It was. I guess. We never had to lock the door. My parents, ha, kept raving about that. We never had to lock the door at night."

"Why is that, Miss Lockeed?"

"Well, the city of course, is alive. Metroplex is one big oversized computer." Delphra smiled to herself. "I remember once playing chess with the city computer."

"So, what you're telling us is that no matter where you were or what you did, the city knew where you were at all times? It knew what you were doing?"

"Yes."

Plaintiff handed her the papers. "Miss Lockeed, can you tell the court what you're looking at here?"

"They look like police reports."

"And can you tell the court whose name is on most of them?"

"Brian's."

"And who is Brian?"

"My nephew."

"And, Miss Lockeed, are you aware of Brian Witwicky's activities?"

"No more so that his parents."

"Can you be specific about that?'

"He carouses with friends when he should be doing homework."

"You and his parents aren't aware of the fact that Brian had been arrested on a number of occasions for theft, drug trafficking, curfew violations and harassment in school?"

Delphra smiled at her like a cat. "We figured it's just a phase." She replied a bit slimy.

"Would you not say, then that Rusti's life is in danger because of Brian's activities?"

"Brian would not kill his sister."

Plaintiff took the papers from her. "Your Honor, I would like to admit this as people's evidence number B."

"Noted."

And Plaintiff dropped the papers on her table in favor of

another piece of paper. She handed that to Delphra also. "Can

you tell me exactly what this is?"

"Another police report."

"From whom, Miss Lockeed?"

Delphra took a moment to scan the paper. "Mountain View Medical Clinic."

"And would you read out loud the top portion of the body on that report, Miss Lockeed?"

"Miss Resonna Witwicky was brought in at approximately 10:34 P.M. suffering from shock and third degree burns to her back. When asked, she reported that her brother had tied her to the kitchen table and poured boiling and freezing water over her back. When asked why, she reported it was because she had seen the puppets. Resonna suffered from shock and disorientation. Photos available upon request."

Plaintiff took the paper from her. "Thank you, Miss Lockeed. Now, do you know if Brian was arrested or convicted or asked about the circumstances regarding this incident?"

"No. I do not."

"And do you know or are you aware whether or not Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky reported their son missing just after the incident?"

"No. I do not."

"Tell me something else, Miss Lockeed: would you still consider it safe for Rusti to live with her parents as opposed to living safely with the Autobots?"

Delphra shrugged, her face pale and worn from all the questions. "I just don't understand all this." her voice strained. "I mean, we know Brian has been cruel, but why punish the rest of the family for one member's scrupulous activities?" She paused. "We want Resonna to stay home. She's a part of the family. She completes the home. I'm sure now, that Daniel and Netty are more aware of Brian's activities, they might seek professional help in dealing with their teenager. But why should they be punished for Brian's deeds? If, if I can just say something more to the court as a last plea," here she gazed at the judge.

Volmers nodded, his own face drawn and weary.

"I really don't think the Autobots can properly take care of Resonna. Oh, they might be able to provide her with an unlimited amount of protection, certainly. But what about a mother's love? Netty and I lived on Metroplex, sure. But we had our parents to take care of us. They comforted us when we were sad, disciplined us when we were wrong. They saw to it we were educated. How do you think the two Autobot leaders will handle the situation once Resonna begins to menstruate? Do they know anything about feminine physiology at all? Will one or the other of them be able to explain things to her when that time comes? What about her emotional swings once she hits puberty? Will they understand her like her mother would? I know the court is seeking a way to take Resonna from her parents, but I think it's all wrong. I think she should stay with her folks, with her own people who know her and love her best. I don't think she needs to live with aliens, who know only very little about Humans, just for the sake of her safety. There has to be a way for Resonna's folks to be able to keep her."

The room fell very eerily silent and Rusti held her breath. Volmers scratched notes on several pieces of paper and he finally gazed up at Plaintiff. "Plaintiff?" He asked.

She frowned and retrieved the paper from Delphra's hand. "People rest, Your Honor."

"Defense?"

"Defense has no questions, Your Honor."

"I think this would be a good place to break. I will return with the decision in two hours." And he struck the gavel.

Rusti and Marissa sat on the lawn outside the courthouse. A blanket provided protection from bugs and moist ground while they ate. Optimus had left to check up on a call to the IG building, leaving Rodimus alone with the ladies. He sat in silence, his optics staring through the huge courthouse as though it didn't exist. A frown crossed his face.

Rusti slowly chewed on her sandwich and picked at a small bag of apple chips and peanut butter stuffed celery. She didn't pay any attention to Marissa who watched her like a hawk, glad to see the girl eat like a girl should. It seemed Rusti had fully recovered from her little out-world adventure. She was very much at ease right now.

"Rusti?" Marissa ventured. "Are you still willing to visit your folks when Optimus and Rodimus have physical custody of you?"

"Hmmhmmh." She nearly sang. Her eyes were bright and wide, taking in everything all around her, every car that passed and every bird that chirped in the nearby trees. She caught sight of people as they walked back and forth on the sidewalks and paid close enough attention to wonder why they wore what they were wearing. She'd smiled to herself, her thoughts ran a million miles a minute.

Marissa smiled warmly. "Penny for your thoughts." She inquired. She too was caught by those bright wide sea-grey eyes. It had been such a long time since Captain Fairborn saw that expression. It was like seeing the wind blush for being so mischievous.

"I was just wondering if Optimus was ever a judge."

"Is that what you're thinking about? Optimus Prime? With all that's occurring?" Marissa nearly dropped her sandwich the same time she dropped her jaw.

Rusti paid her no mind. She scanned the tall trees, catching Roddi just in the corner of her vision and noted he had shut down. "I've never seen Cybertron." She answered. "I don't know what it looks like. And Optimus could not be the leader forever. He had to do something else. I mean, isn't a million years a long time?"

Marissa shook her head. "I do not believe you, girl! You're in the middle of a trial that will determine whether or not you're going to be able to live in Autobot City and you're thinking of Optimus Prime?"

Rusti gave her one of the most innocent smiles the Captain had ever seen on a girl's face. "It's okay, Aunt Missy." She replied with ease. "He's thinking about me too, and he's in the middle of a meeting."

Marissa was very silent for a long moment. "You're pulling my leg."

"No!" Rusti giggled. "I'm not!"

"Yes you are. You're laughing about it. A dead giveaway. There is no way you could know he's thinking about you."

"But I know he is."

"How's that?"

"Cause he just asked me about a Sunday drive tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow isn't Sunday."

"I know that. That's what's so funny!" And she giggled again and snapped into a celery stick.

Marissa fell silent, watching the young thing while her eyes spotted a young couple walking with a huge pair of Rottweilers. The Captain wondered if Rusti's mom had ever taken her girls out on a mother-daughter picnic or window shopping, stopping only long enough to split a hot fudge sundae. She wondered how often Netty would notice how bright both her girls were; how precious their childhood was and should be treasured in photos and trips and moments in an empty field filled with spring flowers and butterflies. Marissa herself never had time for romance and consequently, a family. Not that she made a wrong decision. She knew long ago it was career or family and she chose the former, filling her days with exploration and training and paperwork. Sometimes it was lonely. But it was the thrill of uncertainty, the risk of adventure that made her choices in life so worthwhile. Netty had two young girls that should be given more time than her job.

A sad fact in Rusti's life, the Captain realized. Netty did not really have to work. But she loved her job and so her children came later.

And they came later.

And now they were drifting away.

Volmers leaned forward in his stand, staring intently at both parties two hours later. Rusti squirmed in her seat, nervous, now that she realized what was about to take place.

"I have carefully reviewed both your arguments three times over." Volmers began solemnly. "Both of you have exceedingly proper and logical reasons for your demands-the Defense is just as much in the right as the Plaintiff. And certainly Resonna Witwicky's safety is a major factor in this hearing. The very fact that Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky did not report their son as the perpetrator risking their daughter's life more than once is certainly indicative of neglect. I expect the county will charge you accordingly. But that's not why we're here.

"On another hand, I do believe the Autobots, while more than capable of taking care of the girl, may not be entirely prepared for the responsibilities in question." And here, Volmers stared directly at Optimus. "In reviewing all sides of the issue, I find I have to be fair to all sides of this issue. A little girl's needs certainly come first, her desires second. Rusti needs to be safe. She needs her parents. And as judge of this hearing, it is my decision to award custody to Rusti's parents with the provision that Rusti be allowed to visit the Autobots on weekends. The one other stipulation is that Mr. And Mrs. Witwicky file a police report regarding the activities of their son Brian in the events mentioned here today."

And Volmers struck the gavel.

Netty and Delphra cried out in triumph and both hugged Daniel.

Rusti's heart stopped. She really had believed everything would have turned out for the better. Aunt Missy grasped her hand and squeezed it silently.

Rusti bowed in grief. The headaches were going to come back.


	12. Chapter 12

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 12

Streetwise, Blades and First Aid (after the medic tore himself away from work) scoured the city streets looking for Groove. Often they'd return to the crime scene, still finding nothing. Their dejected spirits affected their work and Hotspot did what he could to keep them from giving up altogether. But a part of their soul essence was missing. The undercurrent of the Protectobot's collective consciousness had been severed.

From his position atop some unnamed hill, Streetwise stared across the pre-dawn horizon. Central City sprawled across the valley; a conglomeration of trees, tall buildings and the large double-story mall squatting firmly central-north. In the south-eastern horizon sat the VR park and the mountain into which it was built. A little closer to his location stood the Ribbon, its over passes, exitways and off ramps swung and zoomed in eight veins, many of those forking off into three or more other byways. Central City was huge, even by Autobot standards, whether or not it was 'flat'.

But Streetwise cared nothing about the city's splendor. He wanted to find Groove, even if it meant taking his brother's place in death. And somewhere, amid the sky scrapers and the freshly blooming trees, the Doppelgangers laid in wait.

Streets heard Hotspot approach. The Protectobot leader huffed up the hill as quietly as he could. Hotspot admitted he felt more at home in the concrete jungle than in a forest. He sat down next to his friend and laid a heavy hand on the 'boy's' shoulder.

"Hey there, Streetwise." He greeted quietly.

"Hey." Streets answered in a soft grunt.

"We're gonna find him." Hotspot reassured him.

Streetwise sat up. "How can you say that? We've been looking for three straight days!"

Hotspot was very silent for a long moment: "We're all a part of each other, Streets." He answered softly. "As certainly as we feel Groove's hopelessness, he's staying alive 'cause of our courage."

Streets stared at his leader and shook his head in disgust. "It's so easy to think that, isn't it? It's so easy to come up with words that sound like they mean something, when they're just words!"

Hotspot knew Streets didn't mean it. This whole affair was hard on everyone. Streets put his whole heart into the case, trying every single idea he had and still the Doppelgangers eluded him. Hotspot fell very silent for a long moment. The two Protectobots just stared across the city, watching the sun make its way over the mountains, revealing the city in all its glory-and its misery. The two Autobots could see buildings that once stood so tall and proud now wounded by bombs.

Hotspot's optics narrowed and he removed his arm from Streets and leaned forward just slightly, staring at the city's expanse. His optics scanned the areas from the very first incident to the most recent; the elementary school. He made a mental map between the park and the mall, between B-street and the Kmart bombs; between the bureau of Investigations building and the gas stations.

And for a moment, the Protectobot leader thought he found a pattern. "Streets . . ." he called softly. "Tell me, do you know of any symbols connected with the Doppelgangers?"

Streets shrugged, his sulking overclouding his processors. Then his optics narrowed and he gazed as his commander. "Symbols? I-I dunno. I think I found landing coordinates by drawing the positions of the bodies found at the park. Why?"

Hotspot reached for a nearby twig and dotted the ground with the same positions he saw from their vantage point. Streets shook his head, seeing no pattern there. He had already marked the map in his quarters with tags and pins, trying to make some kind of pattern out of the mess. But as far as he was concerned, everything was random. No patterns; the Dopps were just mad and they needed no set pattern.

"You know what this is?" Hotspot asked him.

Streets frowned.

"It's incomplete."

Streets shrugged. "I haven't been able to make heads or tails of it either, Spots."

"No, I mean there is a pattern, Streetwise. But it's not completed yet. See here?" He drew a line, connecting dots representing the elementary school, the park, the private school and the B-street bomb.

A near-perfect circle.

"But this is only a fragment. There's more to it, Lad. There's other parts to the puzzle. On the other hand, from what I see here, the only real random incident has been the railway."

"Wh-what are you saying? What do you mean?"

Hotspot stood and cast his optics over the city. "I don't think they were trying to attack the train, Streets. I think they were trying to actually capture one of us. I think they were trying to take both Magnus and Groove."

Streets shuddered inside. "Back to the scene of the crime, eh Boss?" They had already gone over the whole area four times.

"There has 't be something we overlooked, Streets. Somethin' we hadn't thought about yet. Even the cleanest mousetraps have dandruff."

Ultra Magnus was already there when Spots, Streets and Blades arrived. Tripcord didn't bother to greet them. The Autobot scout frowned, his form bent over in acute concentration along the railroad tracks. His brown and gold body gleamed cool in the May morning sun. Magnus carefully analyzed the ground on hands and knees. He retraced the steps where he finally managed to blow the attacking truck to a standstill. At last he sat up when Hotspot stood in front of him.

"You're not exactly early." The City Commander snarled.

"Uh, sorry, sir. I . . . I had to have a private conversation with Streets." Obviously in a rather foul mood, Magnus did not answer him. So Hotspot tried to be diplomatic. "So, what have you found so far?"

"I lost a lot of paint here."

It was a joke. But the joke was lost on Hotspot. He was a hearty individual, but like so many of his fellows, Magnus' dry humor flew over his head. The city commander waited for the joke to sink in and when it did not he dropped it and returned to his examination, going over the blacktop a millimeter at a time. Painstaking work, perhaps, but sometimes the significant would lie in nothing more than a single scratch.

Hotspot directed Streetwise to assist him at the place where Groove disappeared while Blades took to the air, flying to and fro over the site. All the while, First Aid sat in Perceptor's lab back at headquarters and thoroughly examined the remains and armor of the one terrorist Groove shot.

Blades flew over the site one way, then another, seeing the very same thing every time he passed overhead. There were two distinct black marks on the road; that being the area where Magnus fell and lost a lot of fluids, and Groove's spot where he too lost a lot of fluids. From his position, Blades also saw how the streets were pocketed with holes in patterns fitting the true-steel surface of the truck's tires. Blades followed one pattern, flying over the city right for the highway between the industrial park on the western-most areas and Little Tokyo.

In the middle of the highway, they just stopped. They went or came no further. Blades pulled up and transformed, landing gracefully on his feet. He waited for two busses and a Toyota to pass then ran out on the highway and examined the tracks. At this point, the blacktop ran smooth, polished over then that too ended after several 'holes'.

"Hotspot." He called. "I got something you might wanna see."

"What's that?" His boss came over their internal comlines.

"I dunno. I just fight and fly. It looks weird. Almost as though the truck, if it came from this direction, just sorta suddenly appeared from nowhere."

"Okay, Blades. I'm coming."

Another twenty minutes later, Hotspot and Streetwise joined their gestalt brother. They waited for the light traffic to pass and Spots scrutinized the highway with the care of a forensic doctor.

"Know what this is?" He asked his 'boys'. Both shook their heads. Spots trounced back to the point where the smoother part of the highway started and pointed. "This, boys, is the effects of a loading ramp. There was a really large rig eatin' up the highway at this point and it lowered its ramps . . ." Spots traced the smoothed surface for some yards until the first holes appeared. "And here is where the truck was unloaded." And he walked for several more yards along the highway; the smooth surface punctured by holes came to a stop and so did he. "And when the truck was on the ground and moving, the ramps were pulled up. A nice little disappearin' act."

Streets' optics retraced the area until the three of them had to step off the highway to allow three large trucks to pass, followed by two small white cars. "That had to be a horrendous operation, Spots. That truck that attacked Magnus was huge, about his size in robot form. I'd hate to see the truck that was hauling that thing."

All three were silenced as a very large alien flatbed hovercraft silently shot past them. It was eerie because the black, unmarked craft made almost no sound. All their optics followed it, taking note the considerable size and cargo capacity.

Blades and Streets stared at Hotspot, expecting him to draw a sudden conclusion. But Hotspot knew better than that. "Let's get back to Magnus." He suggested.

He and Streetwise transformed and met with the road while Blades leapt up and transformed, arriving only moments later, meeting Magnus as he examined the piece of debris Tripcord had found lying on the ground near the wreckage.

It was all that remained of a stolen Semi-solar .19.

Blades glanced from Magnus and the weapon to the other end of the street where Groove was last seen. The helicopter-Autobot took in a deep breath and transformed again, zipping away from the area and traced the road indentations made by the other truck.

Magnus turned away, still taking in another glance about them. The whole incident seemed so well-planned; the two trucks, the train derailment and bombing, even the smug Dopp who took potshots at people as they ran for their lives. It all seemed so well planned. He strolled to Groove's last position, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

Hotspot and Streetwise arrived unceremoniously and approached him. Resolution crossed their expressions, but a hint of uncertainty lay behind their optics.

"Well," Hotspot started, "we found the origin of one truck-" he cut himself off and gazed past Magnus as though to see Blades. He turned back a moment later. "Blades says he found the other truck's tracks leading to the Dead Zone."

Magnus flinched, surprised. "Why there?"

"Dunno."

Without another word, the city commander transformed and veered out of the area, leaving the others to decide whether or not they wanted to follow. Tripcord remained behind, still gathering tiny fragments of meaningless data.

Magnus arrived just a few minutes before Spots and Streets rolled across the bridge, and speeding through the damaged neighborhood no longer inhabited.

The City Commander gave every thing a once-over with his large optics. There were many cars in the front parking lot. And dead bodies lay about in every direction, many of them dead not more than a few hours ago. Something very unusual occurred here.

Magnus began a stroll around the condemned building, finding three-fourths of it in an upright condition. But upon reaching the backside, Magnus gasped. Half that side of the building had been warped and twisted by extreme heat. Other parts of the metal shot outward. The blast, whatever it was, came fast and powerful, it left no quarter and whatever stood in its path, so obviously was obliterated.

It resembled an energon storm.

Ultra Magnus examined the ground under him. He paced about, noticing tracks in the ground, the muddied area and the old footprints. The factory should have been torn down years and years ago, but no one bothered. And why Prime didn't insist was not disclosed. Perhaps Optimus wanted it to remain standing in memorial to a time when the Decepticons ruled the world. It took the Autobots three months to return from their near-death. Three months out, three months back. Megatron ruled the world for half a year. And Central City paid the heaviest price.

Now the factory stood bent out of shape, distorted by the energon explosion.

"Magnus!" Hotspot called form the nearby ravine. "This way! Down here!"

The City Commander followed the voice south-west of the factory, maneuvering around a parking lot filled with cars and motorcycles. Where did all the vehicles come from? But upon seeing the license plates, Magnus realized they were not just from their home state, but all across the US.

Someone had an underhanded operation here. Amazingly, not one of the bikes or cars was touched by whom ever attacked the complex. He followed Hotspot's voice to the ravine and upon landing, flinched in horror. All around them lay corpses, disintegrating into a pasty ash-white powder. Not all of them were completely gone and some of them were still moving, but dying rapidly.

It was disgusting.

"What is this stuff?" Magnus asked.

Streets shook his head. "I have no idea. No idea at all. I don't think these are real people."

"What are they?"

But Streets only mutely shook his head.

"Hey!" Blades called over their interpersonal comlines: "I found something!" He fell quiet for a moment then came at them in helicopter mode, transforming in mid air and landed in the middle of the nasty white ash. He handed Streets a visual/audio headset. Streets looked it over then shrugged. Then he looked it over again and his optics shot wide.

"What is it?" Magnus asked.

"An audio/video imager-from the VR park!"

Spots and Magnus met optics.

"Ashlyn." Magnus breathed. "She really did see something."

"But what did she see?" Spots asked. "They said she talked gibberish when they loaded her into the ambulance. She wasn't talking right at all."

"It doesn't matter." Magnus replied. His experience with Optimus and Roddi taught him something about psychics-not to dismiss anything they experienced whether or not it made sense. "She might not understand it herself. But apparently her visions were such that they overloaded her ability to rationalize. We don't have a lot of time. Come on." He waited until Hotspot and Streets climbed out the ravine and then he followed them. They transformed and slowly rolled around the building, turning left and headed out of the Dead Zone. Ultra Magnus was about to transform and follow them when something caught his left optic. He gazed left and spotted a watermark stain on what remained of the building's melted metal wall.

It glowed.

And only a set of trained optics could spot it. And only someone who had been around longer than eight million years could tell what it was. Magnus smeared his finger over the building wall and narrowed his optics.

How on Cybertron could It possibly be here? How did It escape its prison?

And where did It go? Who was Its first victim?

Magnus silently vowed to return to this very spot later and retrace the steps of this killer.

They arrived at the VR park, finding its empty stillness disturbing. No young mothers with their young sat on benches. No kids on a Saturday break ran through the facility on a rampage. No ticket takers or cleaning crews. Not so much as the creaking sound of playground equipment could be heard through the complex.

They split up into teams of two, agreeing to regroup in two hours.

Magnus and Hotspot took the upper level and the atrium while Blades and Streets took the playground and House of Amusement, finding not much more than what Ashlyn had found in her deranged mind.

They peered through every room and employee-only area. They searched over the playground, looking for anything that led to secret passways or signs that a cult resided on these grounds meant to protect and entertain children.

But after four hours of hard search, not one of the Autobots could come up with a single clue. And miserably enough, they were going to have to return to duty.

Still, Streets thought as he gave the park a final glance, there was something very disturbing about the faces painted on the walls. There was something amiss there that affected Ashlyn into a state of incoherency. They found her in the House of Reflections, down on her knees, her hands sliced by the windows she tried to break through. She kept saying something about screaming; something about the murals on the walls; something about a mind that interrupted her thoughts.

Something about the park being haunted.


	13. Chapter 13

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 13

Prime looked up from his desk. The last three days threatened to smother him with their very passage of time. Time! It was running away from him before he could catch it. He pained over the loss at the hearing and he tried to bury it under all the processwork he could get his hands on. He feared for Rusti and wondered what mental punishment Daniel dealt her for running away. Optimus' attention drifted from the present digipad, considering the events and their possible consequences. It sickened him that monsters came in all shapes and sizes. Daniel was very cleaver, never touching his children physically. But torture, as Optimus knew firsthand, comes in all forms.

He let the thought go so it would not stray elsewhere and concentrated on numbers and reports, on logs and maps and research and development and . . . he looked up and found Rodimus standing in the door way, leaning against the post.

"You're so much like me." He gave Prime a slight smile. "Always turning to meaningless stuff to run away from pain." Rodimus approached the desk, "It means nothing, you know. Reports and ideas and logs and where currency comes and where it goes and what is being built and what we're trading for other material or energy." He took up a digipad, glanced at it and tossed it over his shoulder. "It's stupid. It's all meaningless."

He reached for another pad when Optimus' hand slammed on it, meaning Roddi was not allowed to take it. The two Primes stared at one another; an intense light sparked Optimus' optics. "Yes." He snarled. "But it keeps us going."

Rodimus paused and lifted his hand away. "Sorry." He whispered. He had forgotten how often Prime would habitually bury himself in paperwork when things would go wrong. He'd hide behind formalities and business until he'd come up with a new idea. It was his way of dealing with all the pain and frustration. He'd visit the repair bay and talk to his wounded after a lost battle and offer some sense of encouragement or take their blame and their grief.

Rodimus felt badly enough, but Optimus took the defeat personally.

The Second swept the digipad from the floor and set it carefully on the desk. Prime had returned to another pad, his head bowed in concentration. But he just sat there, unable to think. Rodimus half sat on the desktop, arms crossed. He didn't know what to say to encourage Optimus. Prime wouldn't take the empty little words the other Autobots swallowed so well. Rodimus knew that whatever he said would have to have some kind of meaning to it. His mind shifted through hours and hours of court time. He tried to piece things together, to find some kind of glitch or loop hole they could possibly use to start things rolling again. But nothing, absolutely nothing came to mind.

Finally Optimus stirred and sighed.

Rodimus knew it was a sigh of despair. Rusti meant more to the Senior Prime than he was willing to let on. He would miss the little munchkin, possibly more than Rodimus (but not by much!) "I'm sorry, Optimus." Rodimus whispered.

Prime looked up and set a completed report on the desk. He folded his arms on the desk. "You know, Roddi," his voice softened, his frame a little more relaxed. "Sometimes if you give a person enough rope, they'll hang themselves. We'll get Rusti back. It's just a matter of time."

"An appeal trial?"

Prime took up another pad. "I'm not finished with this problem; just . . . pissed."

Rodimus flinched with the word. It was rare that Optimus cussed. He smiled wryly and tapped the desktop once. "Good night, Prime."

"Mmm. Good night, Rodimus."

So what's the big deal? I'm still me, you're still you . . . Matrix shmatrix . . .

Matrix shmatrix . . .

I'm sick and tired of being responsible for the universe and its suburbs.

Rodimus rolled face down on his recharger unit and moaned out loud. "I can't believe I would say things so stupidly." He sighed, unable to rest. How could anyone be so ignorant and selfish at the same time? However, he digressed, he wasn't the only one who sinned in such a blasphemous way. Optimus wasn't perfect, either. Optimus merely knew how to bury it all. Roddi knew he didn't need to worry about things he recalled doing in the past. Everybody makes their mistakes, their moments of arrogance. Their days of carelessness.

The Decepticons would never know the difference, anyway.

Someone beeped him for attention.

Roddi tried to ignore it.

He was hailed again and Roddi groaned and stared at his door. His internal chronometer told him he had been asleep for only four hours. "Rodimus." He growled.

"Sir? This is Stickler. Uh, we have another problem with inventory. We . . . Optimus said not to bother you, but it's really important . . ."

Rodimus thought his answer over carefully and decided to be a smart ass about it. "Did you guys know we have a guy who specializes in picking up things Op and I can't take on?"

"We do?"

"Yeah. Some new guy. Kinda tall. Has a tendency to loose his temper. What's his name, um . . . Mags . . . Ultra Magnus? Yeah, that's the guy's name. A real gem, if you ask me."

Silence and Rodimus knew he hit the target. The idiot on the other end of the communication line was obviously embarrassed.

"Well," came his annoying snooty voice, "it's just that we really feel you or Op should come take a look-"

"OH!" Rodimus sat up, throwing his hands in the air. "So you asked Op and he sent you to Magnus also, did he?"

Silence.

"ALRIGHT!" Rodimus snarled. "I'M COMING!" He stomped out his quarters, vowing to turn this guy over to Magnus for a lesson in courtesy and thoughtfulness for leaders who already carry more than their own load 24-7.

In the bitter cold of the wee morning hours, Roddi made his way to the top level of Fort Max. The space docks stood silent and empty. It was rare that anyone would come flying in this time of night, although the city was capable of accommodating any visitor anytime, day or night. Rodimus growled to himself, not saying so much as making faces. He and Optimus switched days and times for rest. And when Optimus simply could not sleep, Roddi would nap at least. Besides, he was still a bit sore from the acid bath he took at the school incident. His new skin took a great deal of energy to graft internally.

The warehouse on the north-eastern side of the docks was lit, but the only one not presently overcrowded with late-night workers. He approached the warehouse and greeted Stickler with a growl.

"Well, I knew it wasn't a good idea to get you out of rest and all, Rodimus. Optimus did say-"

"WHAT did you drag me out here for, Stickler?" Roddi snarled.

Stickler's color greyed slightly and he opened the lock-up. Every item and box therein had been ransacked.

"We, we managed to catch the theft in progress sir. But the thief got clean away."

Roddi scrutinized Stickler for a moment. He struggled to recall what was so important about the lock-up. Events over the last month had distracted him to the point of memory fragmentation. What . . . he tried to access that moment he was here last and it just didn't 'click'. "Remind me now, what was in here?"

"Uh," Stickler glanced at Kup who just came in to join them. "Uhh . . . the crate, sir."

"WHAT CRATE?" Rodimus' patience was thinning.

"He means the one with the weapons in it, dontcha, Stickler?" Kup's voice sounded a lot less threatening than Roddi's at the moment. Stickler stared at Kup as one would seeking salvation from another; and in Stickler's case, it was his own caboose from Roddi's temper.

"Uh, sir." He turned the digipad in his hands a three-sixty. "Uh, yes."

"And it was the one that contained the Screamers, wasn't it?" Kup clarified.

"Uhh . . . sir."

"And those were the rifles you were ordered to send to Ultra Magnus, wasn't it, Stickler?"

Rodimus had to draw a deep breath to keep from blowing up. He glared daggers at Stickler, however, swearing to himself he was going to make someone's life miserable. "All of them, Stickler? Are all the weapons gone?"

"No, sir. Most of the grenades are here. All of the Semi-solars are gone, though and we're missing one of the Screamers."

Rodimus tore his optics off the incompetent Autobot and stared at Kup. "Fine. I'll notify Prime and we'll set out another god-damned search through the city." Rodimus stomped out, knowing he had better not say one more word. Kup lingered a moment longer, giving Stickler a look of warning.

"I think Ultra Magnus will want to discuss this with you tomorrow, Stickler. He might have a new job for you."

Kup abandoned Stickler to deal with the mess and his own conscious and sought Rodimus Prime. The once-young robot he knew had changed a great deal over the years. Trauma and events had turned him into something that Kup could still not grow accustomed. Rodimus had his quirks, but not quite the immature little ingot the old Autobot once knew. And somehow, Kup missed that youthfulness.

"I know what you're going to say, Kup." Rodimus said out loud as the oldster caught up. "Don't worry. Stickler is the least of my worries."

"What do you intend to do?"

Rodimus stared at the cold half-moon and wondered why the moon was supposed to remind him of something. "Well . . ." Rodimus drew slowly. "First off, what time is it on Lunarphyte? And can we place a subspace call there?"

Kup shrugged. "Only Blaster knows that one."

Roddi gave him a wry smile. "Op's still up, I'll bet. Come on, let's go make a prank call."

Well, it wasn't the very exact person Roddi really wanted to talk to, but the furry little fellow on the view screen was good enough. He had long pointed ears, a tail that slipped in and out of view and a hair piece that trailed down between a pair of huge solid black triangular eyes. He looked sorta like a cat, but not exactly like a cat. He had a mischievous grin that Rodimus appreciated very much.

"Mmm, I suppose I could help you out, there, Mr. Prime." The 'guy' answered. "Whaddya wanna know?"

"Antares Screamers. How can we track one down?"

The Wancheeah swept his feet off the desktop and set his elbows on the table, staring hard into the video screen. "Sounds like you have a problem."

"We do indeed." Rodimus answered simplistically. "Someone's taken it and I'm hoping you could tell us how to get it back."

The Wancheeah batted his huge black eyes. "Pray?" He sighed. "Well, we don't manufacture the weapons here on Lunarphyte, although Smat Enterprises, who does make the weapon, is stationed here on our humble little world. There is no way to track the device-unless you hear a really terrible sound and find your front lawn has been erased from existence. Sorry. I know that's not much help."

Rodimus frowned.

Kup scrutinized the little twerp for a moment. "Isn't there a way we can combat this weapon or protect ourselves from it?"

"Protection, did you say?" The furry creature inquired. "Oh, let's see. Can you protect yourself from time? How about the elements? Can you avoid reality? No? Hmm. A serious problem indeed. Tell you guys what, we can send you a couple of experts in the next week or two."

"No." Roddi moaned. "We need someone here within the next hour. We're dealing with fanatics of some war cult."

"Oh, that's a new one." The alien chirped. "Uhh, the only thing that might help you out at all is that the force field frequency on the weapon is in the zeta-9 spectrum. I know that's hard to come by, and it doesn't shut off the weapon. But it can disrupt the force field generated by the weapon when its activated. That way you can at least shoot it."

"Zeta-9?" Kup echoed. "That's some weapon if it takes that high a frequency to counter-act the field."

The furry alien smiled lightly. "Not something to take home and show the kiddies, that's for sure. Sorry I can't be of more help."

"Well," Roddi sighed, "it's enough to start with. Thanks, Ambassador. Rodimus Prime over and out." He switched off and turned to Kup. "Inform Blaster we need something designed with that frequency. Like Ambassador Weezaxas said, it's not much, but it might give us half a chance."

"Not even that!" Kup argued. "Rodimus, even if we were able to get that close to the weapon, there's no guarantee we can stop it!"

Rodimus solemnly fingered the panel under the video screen. "I know Kup. I know."


	14. Chapter 14

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 14

Daniel parked Arcee in the driveway and the family piled out. Dezi stepped out first, her eyes not leaving her little sister. She was sorry for the loss. Sorry that nothing worked. She watched as Rusti crawled out slowly, clutching her drawing pad and book close.

Brain crawled out last, having to sit between his two sisters. Dezi just knew that by bringing Brian home, their family would pay another dear price. But this time, it might be someone's life. Dezi inwardly moaned in despair. She couldn't possibly protect Res day and night.

"Brian, do not spit near the car." Netty admonished. "Resonna, I want you to get your pajamas on and get ready for bed. Dezi, dishes."

Rusti followed her father into the house. A single light revealed drinking cups, plates and clothes littering the living room. The kitchen was an even worse mess; at least three days' worth of dishes cluttered the table, the sink and the counters. Rusti went directly to her room, closed the door and cried a little. They didn't so much as say they were glad to have her home! They just acted as though things were back to normal. She wasn't a person, just some object to be fought for and won! More like a football, she though dismally.

Rusti wanted to crawl into bed and sleep it all off. Maybe it was all just a bad dream and she'd wake up in her own room in Fort Max-it would be a Saturday and she'd go out and play with the Dinobots and Optimus would take her out for a ride and . . . and she was fooling herself. She knew that. The girl changed clothes and just barely put her nightgown on when Brian tapped the door once then rudely entered her room.

Funny. It never bothered her when Roddi would do it. Rusti silently glared at him. Brian was under house arrest until his hearing day after tomorrow. The other judge surrendered Brian under Daniel's and Netty's custody providing they would see to it that he made it to court at the appointed time. Rusti wished Brian would just drop dead.

"Hey, you gonna come out here, 'r you gonna pine away all day?"

She said nothing, shaking her thick curly hair out from under the gown and swept up her drawing book and pencil. It was late and the last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with her 'loving' family.

"What's that?" Brian pointed to the tablet.

"My drawings." Rusti softly answered.

"You draw?" He sounded surprised. But it was more of a jealous surprise.

"Some."

"Lemme see."

She clutched the book more tightly against her chest, knowing he would not approve what she had drawn. She moved toward the door to get around him when he grabbed for the book. "Don't!" Rusti shouted. "Leave me alone!"

"Give me the goddamned book!"

"No!"

"Resonna," Netty's voice warned. "Stop fighting with your brother."

"He's trying to take my drawing tablet!" She answered back.

Silence.

Brian kept trying to pry the tablet from her arms, hurting her in the process. Rusti finally kicked him in the shin and he let go. She almost made it past him when something slugged her in the back of the head and down she went.

Daniel appeared in the hall doorway, fists on hips. "What's going on here?" He snarled.

"She hit me." Brian whined.

Rusti couldn't even take consolation in knowing Brian would have a bruise there for days. Daniel grabbed her hard.

"You listen to me, young lady," he spat, "you're not little miss princess anymore. You will behave around here. You will do and say and live the way I say you will. And that's final. Got that?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed and angry. But it would do her no good. Rusti thought about running away again, wondering how many more years she'd have before declaring emancipation.

Daniel gave her whole room a cursory glance, taking inventory of her posters and toys and clothes. She followed his eyes around, wondering what was going through his mind. He even stared at the curtains Aunt Delphra gave her after the house had been rummaged. Then he silently withdrew and that made her all the more fearful. He was plotting something, she could just feel it. But Rusti was too scared for words. She got up and her father swatted her on the rear as she moved past him. He said nothing to Brian at all.

Because of the destruction of Thatcher Elementary, Rusti and several other survivors were forced to attend Ridale, a school with more questionable reputation. The overcrowding in the classrooms and the hallways seemed to make everyone edgy and nervous. The teachers did what they could to help the new children adjust, but it would be a very difficult quarter.

The day dragged on forever. First period English didn't seem so bad. But Math followed, now promising a quarter of sheer boredom. What they were learning was stuff Rusti already knew. History put her to sleep. New teachers and new faces, new ways of doing things and, as Rusti noted with some amusement, the same old books.

The worst of it was that everyone know about her case. Everyone knew about the custody battle and people she didn't even know asked: 'You really wanna live with the Autobots?' 'Do the Autobots really want you to live with them?' what's that like? Or 'How come your folks don't want you to live at Fort Max?'

By the end of third period history, Rusti found herself just sitting at her desk long after the five-minute bell rang. Mrs. Blu knelt beside her and tried to send Rusti an encouraging smile.

"I'm sure everything will turn out alright in the end, Resonna." She said quietly.

Rusti couldn't look at her. Then she turned and her face was filled with such pain that Mrs. Blu thought she had been pierced by a poisoned lance.

Rusti fingered her blue binder. "I am not what I want to be." She said, quoting an old Autobot poem. "I cannot be what others desire. And right now, as I am . . . s'ssahn'ahh."

Mrs. Blu gave a puzzled look. "Sashanah?" She shook her head.

"It's Autobot. It means 'emptiness'." Rusti answered quietly.

Blu gazed at the girl a moment longer before cupping Rusti's chin and bringing the girl to face her eye to eye. "I don't see that here. Do you know what I see here?"

Rusti shook her head in the teacher's hand.

"I see a young girl who's strong enough to take matters under her own control. I see someone who is a conqueror. I see someone who knows how to take a stand when the moment calls for it. Look at what you've survived, Resonna. Take heart in it. It means you're a survivor."

The bell rang for the last minute and the next class session was about to start. Mrs. Blu left for her desk and scribbled out a good excuse note for Rusti to pass through the halls.

"Oh, and Resonna?" Mrs. Blu called as the girl was about to leave the room, "You don't need to be what others desire. Okay?"

Rusti afforded her a smile of thanks and left.

The day came to a faster close than Rusti hoped. She quietly made her way to the front of the school, hoping nobody would ask more questions. She was tired and would not be allowed to rest until her homework and chores were done.

Aunt Delphra's car rolled into view and Rusti got in, snapped the safety belt and rested her aching head against the window.

The car rolled away, her aunt silently stopping and starting between light signals. Rusti felt the woman's coldness ten miles away. Something had ticked Delphra off and the best thing to do in that advent was just let her stew.

They arrived home and Rusti found she didn't need to unlock the front door. Delphra followed and set her keys on the TV. Rusti went to the restroom then directly to her room.

"You want something to eat, Resonna?" Delphra called in a growl.

"No, thank you, Aunt Delphra." Rusti sang back. She opened her room and plopped her books on the desk and suddenly realized her room was empty! The bed was there, the dresser, her vanity and clock radio. But gone were all her pictures and posters. She checked her closet and found nothing there but a few clothes! No toys, no dolls, no books-and her drawing tablet was gone! She also found to her horror all the clothes in her closet had been changed to two colors: blue and red. She stomped out of her room and found Delphra devouring a raw grapefruit.

"My things are all gone! My drawing book is missing!" she declared.

"Hmmhmmh." Delphra replied with ease, the grapefruit filled her mouth. She swallowed what she had and wiped a little juice off her chin. "Your father wanted you to learn a little self-discipline. This way you'll learn to concentrate. You'll see. Before long, Little Girl, you'll be good in school again. There will be nothing to detract you from your work. Dezi handled it very well. Now it's your turn."

Rusti's eyes narrowed. "Dezi!" she spat.

She returned to the sterile environment that was now her bedroom. Now she really was miserable. Rusti flopped on her bed, lay there for several long moments then passed out in a dreamless sleep.

The nauseating smell of lamb chops woke her from slumber. Mother obviously was home and Rusti assumed she had best do her homework before Daniel got home. At least she could pretend she was doing what she was told, even if she was having problems seeing with tired and aching eyes.

The headaches were coming back, just as she knew they would. The girl sighed and just pretended to read her math book and go over the homework as her father stepped in through the threshold. She tried to ignore the conversation between he and Netty. Rusti tried to pretend she didn't hear him come to her doorway.

"Like the changes?" He provoked.

Jerk, she thought. "Hmmhmmh." Rusti answered instead.

"I think it will prove to do you a world of good, there, Little Girl. It did wonders for Dezi."

Who ignores you now, Rusti thought bitterly. Where's my drawing pad, you jerk!

Rusti woke the following morning to a bleak and empty set of walls. Everything that she chose to decorate her room was gone. Everything that meant something to her personally had been taken away. Someone had wrongfully stripped her life from her. Those were her things, not theirs! School, homework and chores . . . what kind of a life was that? But, the girl thought in turn, she did run away. She did cause them all kinds of grief. Still, rather than trying to work the problem out between they and she, they merely clamped down on her as though Rusti were a criminal.

Well, it didn't really matter, anyway. After three grueling hours of homework, Rusti was glad to go to bed. It meant she could pretend she was Home. Rusti changed her clothes and turned out the light while she heard Brian and her mom laugh at the TV. She frowned and crawled into bed with a deep sigh.

Rusti enjoyed nothing today. The teacher's droning went in one ear and out the other without affecting the girl one way or the other. Rusti felt completely detached from everyone. She was a stranger at school, a stranger and a prisoner at home. All the girl wanted to do was crawl into some unknown hole and never come out again.

Now Rusti cried. These people were her family, she wouldn't deny that. But all she could think about was Optimus still sitting in his office, working steadily with all the stupid digipads, most likely talking to himself, asking questions to no one.

She hoped he missed her.

Rusti dipped her hand down by the bed and plucked up a tissue and quietly blew her nose. She felt so lonely and out of place!

"Psst, Res!" Desi's voice whispered softly in the dark and Rusti jumped, but managed to stay silent. She realized that the whole house had gone still and dark with the onset of night. Her clock told her it was midnight.

"Shhh!" Dezi turned on a flashlight. "Are you asleep?"

"No." The girl answered, wondering what was going on.

"Here. But don't let Mom, Dad and Brian see it."

Rusti held out her hands and accepted a small spiral-bound drawing book and a set of pencils and erasers encased in a vinyl pouch. Rusti's face lit up. Dezi brought back her treasures!

Dezi smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "I got to thinking about what Dad did. It's pretty mean. And Mom's not being of much help. She doesn't like it, either. But she doesn't know what to do."

Rusti's expression sank. "She's mad at me."

"Well . . . no, not really." Dezi countered. "I think she just . . . wants t' be a mom, you know what I mean?" Rusti shook her head. Dezi bit her lower lip. "I think she doesn't feel like a mom. I think she feels you don't want her as a mom."

"But I do." Rusti argued.

"No. She thinks you just want the Autobots, that you don't want her as a mom."

"Oh." Rusti paused, sorry for it all. "I don't mean to do that, Dezi. It's just that . . . I feel better when I'm there, I guess." Misery filled her and she wanted to say so much more and just didn't know what to say at all. Dezi gripped the back of her neck and touched her forehead to forehead.

"I know, Res." She whispered. "It's probably not your fault. You've done it since you were a baby. It's just that they want you home, a part of our family."

"What can I do, Dezi? I dunno what to do!"

Dezi looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing on her lower lip, taking note how her little sister clutched the drawing book close. "Try . . . needing her. You know, moms are funny that way. They want to know they're needed. Maybe you should try that. Don't be a pain in the ass, but just ask her to help sometimes."

"'K." Rusti promised.

Dezi ruffled her hair. "Get some sleep-and hide the stuff from Brian!"

The following day dragged along much like the last. Rusti woke with a slight headache and a buzzing in her ears. She took the sack lunch and followed her mother out to the car and waited while Netty unlocked the doors. Daniel and Arcee had left as early as four o'clock and would not be back until five or six.

The ride to school was silent. Netty hadn't bothered turning the radio on anymore. The music was constantly interrupted with newscasts concerning the dire situation in Central City.

They arrived at school and Netty kissed her daughter good-bye with cold tones and drove off after Rusti closed the door.

Rusti stared after the car and wondered how she could ever get her mom to love her again. She frowned and moved into the school's hallways.

One teacher after another went out of their way to torture the pupils with information and tests and pop quizzes. Rusti was caught off guard a time or two and took demerits for not paying any attention. Her whole life fell into a stasis of education and discipline. And the more the teachers tried to force it down her throat, the more despondent she became.

Finally, one teacher walked out with the girl to meet Netty who came to pick her up. Rusti got in the car and Mrs. Farnesworth squatted in the doorway.

"Hi!" The slim, attractive teacher greeted Netty.

"What's she done, now?" Netty growled, parking the car.

"Oh, nothing, Mrs. Witwicky. I just thought I'd see how everything is."

"None of your business."

Wrong thing to say.

"Mrs. Witwicky, are you aware your child is suffering from perception deprivation?"

"What!" Netty snapped. "No. She's undisciplined."

"And bored. Depression will hinder the learning process-"

"Thank you. I'll discuss it with my husband. Good bye."

And she moved the car just enough to let the teacher know she meant business."

Farnesworth let her go with a frown.

In the car, Rusti settled her safety belt over her lap. She stared forward, not willing to look her mother in the eye.

"What did you say to her, Resonna?" She growled.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"No! I promise. I didn't say anything!"

"I've had enough of your pranks, young lady. I don't know what it's going to take to get it through your head-"

Netty went on with her scolding and Rusti's head throbbed as stress took its toll. Her mother had enough. And Rusti started to cry. Her mom had never called her a liar before and it really hurt. She sniffed but her nose ran just the same and she tried to wipe it, then withdrew her hand and found her finger covered in blood. She wiped her mouth and chin, trying to keep the blood from her clothes and searched for a tissue, her tears falling and head throbbing all the while.

" . . . I don't know what your problem is, Resonna!" Netty's words continued to bite.

"Because I'm dying and you don't care!" The girl wept.

It took a second glance before Netty spotted the blood. She nearly stopped the car in mid-traffic and opened the glove compartment and handed her daughter a box of tissues. She took note how Rusti's face suddenly turned pale. "Resonna, pull the seat back, hon." She tried to direct the girl into action and Rusti accidentally found the lever and the seat collapsed under her.

"Good." Netty agreed. "Now, just keep that over your nose, but turn to the side, Hon. You don't want the blood to get into your lungs." Netty watched as Rusti obeyed, eyes blinking slowly as sleep seduced her.

"Hey you." Dezi greeted. She exchanged Rusti's well-worn and bloodied tissue for a warm damp washcloth. "How ya' doing?"

"Okay." The girl replied under the cloth. It wasn't true, of course. But it was what Dezi wanted to hear. "Where's Mom?"

"She had to go and take care of something with Brian. I don't know. She didn't say. Just that she had to go and would be back later." Dezi sat on the edge of the bed and produced a small box. "Dad left this here for you. I guess he's sorry for all the stuff he's done."

Rusti looked perplexed. "What is it?"

Dezi looked a bit bashful. "Chocolate-covered strawberries."

The young girl's eyes shot wide open and eagerly she plucked one up when Dezi lifted the lid. But then Rusti remembered Dezi liked them too and offered it to her. Her sister took it thankfully and Rusti plucked up another and the two ate, silently enjoying the sweet smooth chocolate.

"I can't believe Dad did this!" Rusti shook her head as she sat up enough to pluck up a second helping. She offered another to Dezi, who gladly accepted.

"Hey, anybody seen Mom?" Brian's voice startled both girls and Dezi glared at him.

"No, stupid. She said something about taking care of something for you."

"Oh. Yeah. Hey, where'd you get the candy?"

"Dad." Rusti answered flatly.

Dezi watched Brian simply protrude his lower lip, nod and walk away. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously and turned her gaze to her little sister who ate a fourth strawberry. "Res, don't eat anymore." She ordered.

"Why? They're just strawberries. They're not going to spoil my dinner. Besides, Dad gave them."

Dezi closed the lid on the box. "Did he?" She left the room, annoying Rusti unintentionally.

Rusti frowned, feeling better now that she had something to eat. She sat all the way up and paused, waiting for her head to spin. When it did not, she stood, slowly, and proceeded to the front room. Her back pack must be out there as her mother carried her in, not even bothering to take off Rusti's shoes.

Brian sat on the couch, flipping through channels. His face looked so very pale in the TV's light! Dezi plucked up the phone and tried to call Aunt Delphra, softly cussing under her breath.

"Hi, Aunt Delphra? Aren't you supposed to come and watch us? No, Mom left a while ago. I just came in. Yeah, he's here. Res' fine, right now. We just had something to eat; some strawberries Dad had left for her. You are? Okay. Bye."

Rusti blinked. The room seemed so much brighter than it should. "Is Aunt Delphra coming, Dezi?"

"She's on her way."

"Kay." Rusti glanced around the room and frowned. "Mom forgot my backpack. Can I watch TV until Aunt Delphra gets here?"

"Yeah." Dezi sighed.

"No!" Brian spat.

"Brian!"

"Dezi!" He mocked. "Mom and Dad said she can't watch any TV for a month. She can't go anywhere or do anything except homework."

"You should talk, you two-faced loser." Dezi sneered.

Brian jumped to his feet. 'What did you call me?"

Fear welled up in Rusti and she hugged herself. "Please, don't fight!" She begged.

"What did you call me?" Brian repeated.

"A freakin' two-face piss-ant of a loser!"

He slapped her.

She slugged him twice then gave him a right cross.

Rusti aimed for her room, but was intercepted when a shadow slipped out of the shadow in the doorway to her room.

It had no head.

It moved toward her, a long handless arm stretched out to her and Rusti swallowed a scream. She backed away and finally managed to scream when it touched her head. She ruffled her hair as though someone had poured a bowl full of ants in it.

Dezi turned, confident Brian wasn't going to try anything for a moment.

That was when she saw it, too. And that was just before Rusti collapsed unconscious. "Res!" Dezi screamed. "Res! Ohmigod! Ohmigod, please wake up!"

The headless, handless stick figure crept toward her and Dezi choked back a cry. She inched back, having to abandon her sister.

Her body suddenly fell useless and Dezi collapsed. Aunt Delphra entered just before the young woman lost conscious entirely. "No!" Delphra begged. "You can't touch them! These children are protected by the Autobots!"

" . . . Not concerned. Doppelgangers. Take problem. Witwicky DNA required for down payment." And the last thing Dezi remembered was the figure, tall and slender, darkness against shadows, pointed at Brian.

"Traitor."

* * *

The air stank. It was not a musty, toilety-kind of stench, but a sharp, nose-burning alcohol kind of stink that made the nose and eyes burn. She choked on it when she finally came to. Rusti ached head to foot and found her arms stretched above her head.

No, she was hanging from a ceiling, dangled by her shackled wrists. Her hands were cold and numb and her throat and neck hurt terribly. Darkness enshrouded her and the girl wondered how she managed to get herself in such predicament. She drew breath and coughed, which only caused more discomfort as she could neither breathe nor cough properly.

"Dez-zi?" Her voice choked with the lack of oxygen.

No answer.

"Dezi?" She called a little more loudly. She moaned, miserable and sick.

"Who-who's there? Is, is somebody there?"

From the sound of soft reverberations, Rusti recognized the voice belonging to an Autobot. But she could not tell which one. "Me!" She tried not to cough. Her lungs burned from the bitter scent. "It's Rusti."

"Rusti? Rusti . . . Witwicky?"

"Yeah."

"Rusti. Primus, girl. Whatchya doin' here?"

"I don't know. Something took me. It had no head. It had no hands." She coughed again. "My hands hurt."

"Waitaminuite. Lemme see what I c'n do."

"I, I can't tell which one you are. Who are you?"

"It's Groove, there girl. Steady. Keep 'a talkin' so I can zip in on yer voice."

Rusti coughed again and moaned. The smell seemed to wash over her skin and scratched her throat. "Where are we?"

"In a holding place a some kind. They've been coming and going for the last few hours."

"What? Who're you talking about?"

"The Dopps. They have some very good equipment. I think they're working for someone else."

Large metal hands groped about her legs and Rusti wiggled her foot.

"Ah, there you be." She could hear a smile in his voice. "Hold still."

A high-pitched sound followed a flash of light and Rusti's whole body fell. She didn't have time to cry out in surprise before she landed safely in Groove's arms. He hissed inward in pain and had to let her down the rest of the way.

"What is it?" she asked, frightened. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's alright. Here now. Follow me. You don't wanna wallow in the filth here."

"What filth?"

"Just . . . just come with me."

She obeyed and let him take her hand. Her shoes soaked in a thick mucky pool of darkness. There was no light, but Groove needed none. He guided her to one side of the room and hefted her up on a concrete shelf against the wall and joined her a second later.

"Are you okay, Rusti?"

"I guess." She answered. "I'm sore."

"Yeah. I don't know how long you been there. Guess I don't know how long most of them have been there. I didn't know you were there at all. I would've done something sooner. Do you know when you got here?"

"No. And where's Dezi?"

"Your sister? I dunno. Maybe they got her. Maybe they didn't. Can't tell."

Rusti took a long moment, trying to figure out what he was talking about. She tried to cover her mouth and nose with her shirt, but it did no good. She was still affected by the potent scent. "Where are we, Groove?" She asked quietly.

"Uhmmm . . . in a not-so-niffty a place."

Now she turned to him directly. "Where are we, Groove?"

His blue optics flashed brightly at her. But he complied by flashing a light and casting its power over the room.

What she saw threw her into shock. Bodies. Bodies. Living or dead, there were many, many of them. Young, old, male, female. They were all here, dangling from the ceiling much like she was. Some of them were grotesquely white, their clothes drenched in blood, and the blood dripped off their feet.

Rusti released a small cry and hid her face.

"Sorry." And Groove shut off the light. "But I thought you were supposed to be back at Fort Max."

"No. Optimus lost the case." She bowed her head, miserable. "I lost the case." Then it suddenly dawned on her. "Groove, why are you here?"

He hesitated a moment. "Fight at the train down town. Mags and me were attacked. I dunno if he's okay. I ended up here. Wait! Hush, now! Lie down, if you can."

And she watched as he shut off his optics. She lay down and watched as light appeared between the bodies and two figures in suits began to check their collection. They retrieved two figures, cutting their bonds and allowing them to collapse to the bloody floor. Then they left.

And all fell back to darkness.

"You know," Groove started slowly, "I think these must be the same guys who stole the medical records from the hospital. I think there might be a connection between the Dopps and whomever must be needing bodies."

"But why? Why would anybody want to do this?"

"I dunno. Maybe to feed a species, or make human fertilizer or just slaughter for fun. Who knows?"

"Then, why you, Groove? Why?"

Groove activated another light, a dimmer one, this time and pull off a microchip from his body. He set it before her and fell silent. Rusti carefully picked it up by the edges and gave it a momentary study. "Transformers physiology?"

"Has to be. We might be mechanical equipment. But we're the most complex pieces of equipment there is."

Rusti nodded and noticed how part of Groove's right arm was missing its armor and several layers of components. He allowed her to touch it in sympathy when she realized he was in pain.

"It'll be alright, Rusti." He said softly. "Roddi is looking for us right now. I'd swear on it by the Matrix."

The clanging of the opening door roused the girl from a slumber she did not know she fell into. Rusti watched while the two men in suites came back, this time they brought rocket launchers and an acid pellet gun. Her cold and dried eyes widened as they kept weaving their way through the forest of bodies.

Groove's hand unceremoniously pushed her flat face-down on the shelf and Rusti nearly cried out in surprise and annoyance. But she caught herself in time and managed to remain quiet. Then the idiot Autobot jumped down from the cement slab and held his arms up. "Hey, guys," he called. 'Don't hit me this time, okay? I'm already hurtin' bad."

He walked away so to distract them from Rusti. The girl caught her voice in her throat and whimpered sadly when the door closed, leaving her entirely alone. She gathered herself up into the corner Groove sat in and wished with all her might she had a blanket. The cold unforgiving cement reminded her too much of the school floors.

Rusti rested her head against the cold corner and closed her eyes. It hurt to breathe.

The door clanked again some time later. Rusti had slept uneasily, finding her rear-end hurt for sitting too long in one place on such a hard surface. She moved from the spot and found her body colder than before. The cold air hurt her eyes so much that she could not keep them open for too long a time.

The men in suits pushed their way through the 'body barrier' driving three flat beds ahead of them. There they left the flatbeds and returned to the outside world. The door closed once again, leaving Rusti alone in terrible silence and burning air. She stirred and peered into darkness to see what they had brought. But if the darkness was not enough to conceal the cargo, her burning eyes were. She tried to blink several times to encourage her tear ducts to work, but it did her no good. She sighed and resumed her spot and position against the corner.

Rusti did try to think of a way out, but had no weapons and she feared to call for help, lest they would certainly kill her and leave her hanging like the rest of the packaged bodies. The girl dared try nothing right now. She was frightened not knowing if she would live long enough to see Optimus and Roddi again. But Rusti remembered she survived lost and alone in the city. She survived Brian's abuse and survived the stump that tried to eat her. Optimus will come for me, the girl told herself. And she took that to heart.

The tiniest of bleeps disturbed the cold darkness of her prison. Rusti came to, but did not open her eyes. She strained to listen.

Nothing.

Nothing.

There! A tiny whine.

Another bleep.

Then a gurgling voice: "Hey, kid."

Her eyes shot open and she caught the sight of a little light. She crawled to the edge of the shelf and peered down. There, on the three flatbeds, lay Groove, strung out in three main body sections. Rusti cried out, covered her mouth and sat back.

"Now, don'cha get all upset." Groove cooed. "It looks worse than it really is, really."

"Ohmigod. Groove! Why? Why would they do this?"

"Just curious, I guess." The poor Autobot replied. "They wanted to know how things worked 'nd stuff. You know. Well, at least like a gestalt, you know."

She backed away, so sad and frightened for him. "Can they put you back together?"

"Eh?" His vocalizer was drowning in fluids. "Wha's that? Yeah, I know they gotta be worried for ya."

He fell silent again, but somehow the poor fellow managed to activate a little light. Rusti lay down on her tummy and stared down over the edge at Groove's face. The jerks had removed half of it, exposing circuitry and nodules. He looked so naked, so sad. She grieved.

"Betcha wondering howcome I'm not dead, hu?" Groove's voice garbled in the quiet.

"Yeah." Rusti sadly answered. Her nose felt so dry and cold inside.

Groove forced a smile. The flexi-metal on the one side stretched and adjusted to a smile. The other side merely moved gears and cords so that a few tiny pulleys rearranged themselves in a slight movement. Just for that moment, Rusti thought about Star Trek and how phony it seemed compared to the real thing. There were no blinking lights found anywhere on Groove's head.

"Well, kid, it's kinda like being on a baseball team. Except that you're actually attached to their bodies and you feel what they feel. You can count on their moves. You learn how to work together 'cause in order for a whole, all the parts have t' agree with one another. What I think should be how First Aid and Blades think. So, if a 'Con comes at us with a vibro-sword, we have to agree on what to do. Usually that would be to grab something to deflect the sword, then you kick him in the afterburners. It's cool, really. Because sometimes while we're fighting, we're talking to one another. Streets and Blades always debate about something. It drives Spots nuts, but we deal with it."

"Hmm." Rusti's headache started in and she wished up and down she could get some aspirin to squelch it before it became worse. Her tongue felt like it was growing. "Do you guys have to fit together a certain way, or can you just go together anyway you want?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"Well, let's say you and First Aid are the arms one time, then you decide to become a leg the next time and Streetwise becomes the other arm.

"Oh, it doesn't work that way."

"Oh. Well, how do you transform? I mean, I know you have your transform components on the outside, but how do you change again?"

"What? How long have you been with Autobots?"

She shrugged, feeling more and more tired.

"Well, it's the subspace pockets, girl. You're silly. Now listen up, we just switch components. Pieces that don't belong to the rest of our bodies, belong to the whole. So we're interlocked into our own intranet, get it?"

Rusti yawned, but cut it short due to the burning atmosphere she was force to breathe. "I guess so."

"Awe, geeze." Groove moaned. "I'd gone and forgotten."

"What?"

"Well, you. You're trying to breathe. You shouldn't be breathing this stuff."

"Oh."

"No, Rusti, don't fall asleep, there. Let's . . . Let's find you a way outta here."

"I don't' wanna leave you, Groove."

"Don't be an idiot. Now, lemme scan the place, okay?"

"K." And she cut off another yawn, waited a moment, then two before:

"There! I found something. It's just a little bit above you there, girl."

Rusti glanced about and found a small wooden door, secured by a paddle lock. "What is it?"

"Dunno. Why dontcha look into it and find out."

"I don't have a key, Groove.

From the second flatbed, one of Groove's arms activated itself and he managed to toss her a tiny tool. She plucked it up and pressed a button and found it was a multi-key. Something on it had to work. She undid the piece and an adjustable head opened and closed. By the dim light, Rusti managed to stretch over and slip the device under the paddle lock. It inserted itself and turned until it clicked, then it turned back and turned forward once more before the lock undid itself. Rusti smiled and took the lock off the small door.

"I did it, Groove, I got it undone.'

"That's a-girl. Now, open it and see what's inside."

Rusti obeyed and peeked in. "It's dark."

"Yeah. But does it look like it leads someplace?"

"Yeah."

"Then in ya' go!"

She almost obeyed, but hesitated and turned back to the poor Autobot who she knew had to be dying. "I can't leave you, Groove. Please, I'll stay and you tell me more."

"I'll get up off this flat bed and paddle you good if you don't do what you're told, now GET IN THERE!"

Rusti stared down at him in surprise until she recovered enough to do what he said. She stood on her tippy-toes from the shelf and actually had to jump over to get onto the ledge. She pulled herself the rest of the way in and crawled a few inches before turning around. "It's wet and dirty in here, Groove." She reported. "Are you sure I'm supposed to do this?"

Groove emitted a low groan. "Yeaaaah! Unless you wanna end up like me."

"Okay." She turned away and had to feel her way around. No light, no sound and no other way to go. She crawled a few feet before realizing the floor beneath her was covered in muck and goo. She reacted loudly and tried to stand up but she hit her head against the roof and fell back to her knees.

"You okay, there, girl?" Groove called out as loudly as he dared.

"Yeah." Rusti's little voice wavered in pain. "I'm okay."

"Keep going, girl. Don't look back."

"'K." She answered weakly. And down she went on her hands and knees, crawling through gross, cold muck. She dared not guess what it could be; it was cold and disgusting. Rusti kept moving forward until she dared a glance back. No light. No light anywhere. She felt stone all around and heard the hissing sound her pants made as she moved. The girl slid on a leaf once, but caught herself, horrified at the thought of getting her blouse and hair dirty.

Rusti kept moving, wondering if there was an end to the tunnel at all and a long time after that thought, she finally had to pause and rub her hands on her thighs. Her fingers were sore with cold and she was sure she had small cuts on them from torn wet leaves. Her shoes were ruined, to say nothing of her jeans. But she did find her eyes didn't hurt so much here. They still felt dry, and the air, while musty, was easier to breathe.

A clanging echoed down the tunnel and instinctively, Rusty bent over and covered her head with her dirty hands. But there came no light.

Silence.

Silence.

And another clang.

It dawned on her that someone entered and exited the room. She turned around, wondering if she shouldn't go back. "Groove?" She called. But she caught herself and did not call out again, fearing for her own life.

After a few moment's silence, Rusti assumed either Groove had not heard her little voice or wasn't there. She debated whether or not to return. She already covered a good distance and going back would prove disadvantageous. Besides, maybe the tunnel led outside.

The piercing whine of blasters reverberated through the tunnel and Rusti muffled a scream. Someone shot someone else! What if it was Groove? What if it was someone else hanging from the ceiling, still conscious just like her? What if it was Dezi?

Rusti stood and bent over to keep from hitting her head, determined to go back and find out. But she stopped herself and tried to think rationally. It was her sister, it had to be!

Or was it Groove?

Or maybe it was someone she didn't know at all.

She couldn't decide what to do! Go back, or continue? She leaned against the tunnels' cold curved wall and started to cry. It was just too much. She had no idea where she was and if she died, no one would ever find her!

Several moments passed and Rusti still didn't know what to do. She tried to wipe the tears out from under her eyes, smearing the muck over her face.

And suddenly the girl found that funny. Optimus would see her and ask what she had been doing. And that was funny. Not because Optimus was asking a dumb question, but because he was making fun of her! Optimus had a strange sense of humor. He would play dumb so that people would have to correct him. But in actuality, he was playing a game, making fun of them. He made light of the obvious.

And with that thought, Rusti shook her head, disgusted at herself. She was still alive, and that meant she wasn't incapable of doing something about her situation: "Stop it!" She told herself out loud.

And she pressed forward, groping along the tunnel walls.

She moved for quite some time, wondering if there was an end to the tunnel at all. She hoped it didn't narrow down into a grate and then flush down into the sewers. She knew she could not fit into those little tiny openings. She sighed and squatted, resting her arms on her knees. The girl had no idea what the time was, if it was day or night. The silence was broken only by her breath and movement.

Hours later, Rusti was forced to just stop for a while. She gave up trying to be neat and clean and sat against a wall and rested her head against the wall. A good glass of water sounded real good.

Her head drooped and she caught herself drifting to sleep. She gave into it, deciding she'd need strength to move on, anyway. She shifted to her side and propped her head against the wall.

Sounds rolling from a great distance drew her from the blackness of sleep and Rusti woke much later, finding no light. She blinked several times to see if she could tell the difference between her closed eyes and the darkness about her. But she could not. The girl sighed and wished there was a pool of water nearby. Maybe something to munch on. But there was nothing here but the darkness, the silence and the muck. She felt very comfortable sitting right where she was. Rusti thought she could just stay and wait for someone to come and get her.

But she frowned and pulled herself up and just proceeded forward. It was so strange not knowing what the time was. In one way, it was cool because for all she knew, she was up way past her bedtime. On the other hand, she might have missed breakfast already.

She wondered if Dezi was okay. God, she hoped Dezi was okay! Rusti kept telling herself they were looking for her and Dezi right now. Maybe they had put her face on the TV news, or maybe a milk carton.

That was a bad thought. Usually children whose faces were put on milk cartons never returned.

She leaned against a wall, pausing long enough to let her tears have their way. Her legs felt wobbly and her stomach hurt. Water-anywhere, any kind would be so nice right now!

Of course, Rusti knew that would do her no good whatsoever. She tried not to think about being buried alive. No one would know. And that was the most frightening of all.

Maybe she should have stayed and let Groove spank her after all. She moaned after another moment and forced herself to press on.

Just the darkness and the sounds she made filled the tunnel. Hour after hour, she crawled forth. Rusti's knees and hands were well worn now and she would make herself walk bent over as though she were visiting a Hobbit's home. But the strain was hard on her back and neck and she'd go down on her hands and knees only to find them far too sore.

Up and down, she kept trying to negotiate her advances with her exhausted and wounded body. She tried not to think about how nice it would be to have a little bit of water, if to give some moisture to her dry throat. Of course, she had to think silly, and thought about popcorn and cotton candy and PIZZA! Yup! Pizza with extra real bacon and mushrooms and lots of olives and bell peppers and a smattering of pineapple. She smiled at that one because Dezi would tell her the combination was gross.

"This muck is what's gross", she thought loudly. Her own voice startled her and she laughed, but briefly. Her head started to hurt and although Rusti could not see, she was sure her vision had grown blurry.

Then WHAM! She slammed into something and fell back on her behind. "Great!" She groaned. Now her butt was going to be as cold and wet as her knees! But she didn't get up for a moment or two, trying to recover from the sudden impact. She rolled over on her knees and crawled to the wall on her right and felt all around. Sure enough, there was a wall in front of her.

A wall! She started to panic. This was not good! It meant she had made all that distance for nothing! It meant there was nothing at the end of the tunnel! She pounded on the wall. "NOOO!" She screamed. "Nooo! Don't burry me here!" She struck it with her palms and sank to her knees, weeping. "Please, please! Don't burry me! I don't want to die! Please! Oh, gawd! Optimus! I don't want to die here!"

But nobody heard her. Just the darkness, the cold, and the muck.

Sound?

Sound?

Rusti opened her swollen, tearful eyes and found light! She nearly jumped out of her skin. Where was the light coming from! Where! She looked up and there she found herself under the grate of a water drainage system. That explained the muck! She pounded the wall.

"Hellp!" She cried. "Somebody! Somebody! Please help me! Somebody!"

The silhouette of a woman peered down from above, her hair swayed in the motion. "Ohmigod." She gasped.

"Help me!" Rusti repeated. "Please help! I don't want to die down here!"

"Hang on, Honey, we're calling somebody, right now."

"Just get me out of here, please!" Rusti could just faintly hear someone else talking to the woman and the woman looked up, then back down at the girl.

"What's your name, Sweety?"

"Rusti."

"Rusti? Just hang tight."

Rusti slammed her back against the wall, her heart pounding a million miles a minute. The rising sun filtered into the tunnel and Rusti found her vision was indeed blurry and her head throbbed.

"Rusti?" The woman came back. "Hon, how did you get down there?"

"Somebody took me and Dezi and I woke up and they had Groove there and I couldn't breath and I crawled into the tunnel and I think they shot somebody in the room."

She cut herself off when she heard the woman's companion mutter something from above. The grating was lifted and a rope latter uncurled down her way. Rusti feebly forced herself away from the wall and tried to climb. But she was too tired and shaky to do much more than hold on.

They pulled her up and Rusti squinted her eyes greeting a bright morning sun. Freedom! Safety!

She gratefully wrapped her arms around the woman with whom she had spoken. Then someone roughly tore her away and she stood face to face with Brian's dummy.

Rusti lost her wind, her eyes froze on the sight and she thought she was going to faint.

"Perfect." It said.


	15. Chapter 15

TRANSFORMERS: Testament

Chapter 15

Optimus reread the report then dropped the digipad, disgusted. For his cooperation, someone in the court thought it only fair to reduce Brian's bail. Consequently, Brian was released from jail under a hundred thousand dollar bail which someone else promptly paid.

Obviously someone on the outside, the Autobot leader mused. He pushed himself off the desk and paced, brooding.

He glanced out the window, his optics scanned the great city around him. What irony! Here he was supposedly this great military commander and yet he still could not save Central City. "Max," he called out loud. "News."

The video screen flickered and channels automatically switched to accommodate Optimus' request.

" . . . THE EXPENSE OF LIVING IN FORT MAX/CENTRAL CITY DUE TO THE ROAD BLOCKS HAS REACHED AN ALL-TIME HIGH. GAS PRICES: TEN DOLLARS A GALLON! MILK, FIVE DOLLARS! FLOUR, SIX AND MOST OF THE BAKERIES THAT HAVEN'T CLOSED ARE ALMOST AT THAT POINT."

"AND WHAT'S BEING DONE ABOUT IT NOW, SIL?"

"WELL, DAN, THE AUTOBOTS AND CENTRAL CITY AUTHORITIES ARE DOING WHAT THEY CAN AT THE MOMENT. MANY PEOPLE HAVE BEEN KILLED AND INJURED IN THE LAST FEW BATTLES. REPORTS STATE THAT RODIMUS PRIME WAS SERIOUSLY INJURED DURING A BATTLE WITH THE TERRORISTS. TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE, THERE ARE REPORTS AND RUMORS-AND AGAIN, I SAY THAT THIS IS JUST AN UNCONFIRMED RUMOR-THAT SEVENTEEN MORE PEOPLE HAVE DISAPPEARED IN THE LAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS SO IF THAT'S THE CASE, IF THAT'S TRUE, IT RAISES THE MISSING PERSON'S LIST TO ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-TWO . . ."

Suddenly, he didn't want to hear any more. He didn't want to listen to something that pointed invisible fingers, reminding him of his failure. Prime turned away and was about to tell Max to just turn the damn thing off when the reporter suddenly cut off and a bizarre voice, like a children's cartoon character, filled the room with coldness:

HELLLLLLOOOOO CENTRAL CITY! HELLLOOOOOO FORT MAX!

Optimus spun around. "Max! Record this!"

"IIIIIIT'S ME! MR. WATCHER! DIDJA MISS ME? AWE, THAT'S GOOD. LISTEN, I HAVE A LITTLE MESSAGE TO GIVE TO ALL YOU GOOD PEOPLE. AND YOU'VE BEEN SO GOOD, TOO! I'M GOING TO INTRODUCE YOU TO MY LAST FRIEND: EXECUTIONER!"

Up stepped another puppet. This one had a little ceramic mask on its face, the mask had no expression, but one could clearly see all too-human eyes under it. It was dressed in white robes with the drama masks of comedy/tragedy dangling from a necklace. The masked puppet waved in silence and Watcher laughed.

"DON'T MIND HIM, FOLKS, HE'S A LITTLE TV-SHY. ANYWAY, WE THOUGHT WE'D GIVE ANOTHER LOVE MESSAGE BEFORE LEAVING. WHAT'S THAT? AWE, NOW, DON'TCHA CRY! I KNOW YOU'RE GOING TO MISS US! BUT WE HAVE ANOTHER TOWN TO VISIT BEFORE LONG AND WE THOUGHT WE'D CELEBRATE OUR TIME WITH YOU WITH ONE FINAL PARTY! SEE, WE WANT YA ALL TO SEE OUR BELOVED MASTER AND YOUR LOVED-ONES WILL MAKE IT POSSIBLE! THAT'S RIGHT! WE'RE GOING TO USE THEIR LIFE FORCE TO BRING RROGOCHE RIGHT TO YOU, CENTRAL CITY, JUST BECAUSE YOU'VE BEEN SO GOOD TO US! WHAT'S THAT? WHERE ARE WE GOING TO APPEAR NEXT? WHY, THAT'S A GOOD QUESTION! WE LIKE TEXAS, YOU SEE AND THOUGHT ABOUT GOING TO HOUSTON. SO, IF YOU MISS US, YOU'LL FIND US THERE. AWE, NOW, I CAN'T GIVE AWAY ANY DATES . . . THAT'S AGAINST MY RELIGION-HAHAHAHA!"

Optimus swung around shoved all the digipads off his desktop sending the computer monitor with them. He pounded the desk, infuriated beyond all but one word: "NO!"

The three-eyed puppet stepped back and Executioner leaned against the TV screen, a set of human eyes blinked under the mask: "KORDOK. ROCK NAAKANNNNNDA. DOISH."

The words stabbed Prime through his laser core and he sank to his knees. He knew those words; that phrase! He knew that language! The people who spoke it were long since dead. He and Magnus were the only two people in the whole quadrant who knew and remembered those people. Was this what happened to them? Were they killed by the very creature-god they worshiped?

Prime shuddered within. The Droms on planet Staumblan were a fierce people, ruthless in business and well known for their cultural child abuse. Then, one day, they simply ceased to exist. Optimus collapsed, sitting against his desk, staring out his window into a partly-cloudy mid afternoon sky. How could a cult attain so much power?

"OH MAX AND CENTRAL: TWIN CITIES FAIR!" The Watcher's voice came back to haunt Prime's audios, "WE SHALL SAY OUR THANKS. WE WILL LIVE AN ETERNITY DANCING IN THE LIGHT OF RROGOCHE'S FIRE!"

" . . . IT'S ALL OVER THE NEWS, DAN. A GREAT LEGAL BATTLE IS TAKING PLACE BETWEEN THE AUTOBOTS AND THE WITWICKYS FOR CUSTODY OF THEIR LITTLE NINE YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER, RESONNA WITWICKY. RUMORS HAVE BEEN RUNNING RAMPANT ALL OVER TOWN, THESE LAST FEW DAYS FROM DRUG ABUSE AND CHILD ENDANGERMENT; CULT INVOLVEMENT; TO PARENTAL NEGLECT AND CHILD ABUSE. THERE ARE NO CONFIRMATIONS ON ANY OF THESE RUMORS AT THIS TIME AND WHERE IT ALL STARTED IS NOT CLEAR. WE CAN'T GET ANY ANSWERS FROM EITHER SIDE, BUT WE DO HAVE CONFIRMATION IN REGARDS TO THE CUSTODY BATTLE."

"VERY INTERESTING INDEED, BEVERLY. COULD THIS HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE RUMOR THAT THE WITWICKYS' SON, BRIAN IS RELEASED FROM JAIL UNDER A HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLAR BAIL?"

"AGAIN, WE HAVE NO CONFIRMATION ON THIS NEW STORY, DAN, BUT THE PUBLIC'S EXCITEMENT OVER THIS NEW DEVELOPMENT SEEMS TO HAVE OVERSHADOWED THE TERRIBLE CIRCUMSTANCES CAUSED BY THE DOPPELGANGERS. AND IT SEEMS FOR THE MOMENT, THE CITY HAS FALLEN EERILY SILENT THESE PAST FEW DAYS."

"BEVERLY, THANK YOU. ON WALL STREET, TODAY, THE JONES AVERAGE-"

"Max, kill it." Prime softly ordered. He sat there frozen with anger and frustration.

The door bleeped for attention. Prime was not in the mood to greet anybody and wipe their proverbial nose. "Who's there, Max?" He asked softly.

"CITY COMMANDER ULTRA MAGNUS, SIR."

"Let him in." Prime forced himself off the floor, although he would just as soon as remain there. But it was not a proper thing to do in front of anyone. He inwardly frowned at the mess he made and knew he'd have to call for a new monitor and someone to come and clean up after him. He started to pick up the fallen digipads as Magnus entered.

"You're not going to like this . . ." Magnus stared the mess on the floor then gazed at Prime. It wasn't very often that Optimus threw tempers like this, even more seldom to this extent. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Did you see the news broadcast?" Prime asked in turn.

"No."

"You didn't?"

"No."

Optimus paused for a moment, unsure whether to fill Magnus in or not. Then he saw the digipad and a tiny object sitting on it. "What's this?" He asked.

Magnus handed it to him, fragment and all. "You're not going to like this. Do you recall something about a crate that appeared from nowhere and three Antares Screamers packed tightly in it?"

"No." Prime gazed at him, now, surprised. "No! I knew nothing of any Screamers."

Magnus nodded. "Until an hour ago, neither did I. You are, of course, aware that the inventory stock has been haywire."

"Yes. It has been for several weeks. What's the problem?"

"Electro mice, perhaps."

"What?"

Magnus grimly smiled at his own little joke. "It seems some of those shipments directed to Brian Witwicky also included weapons, among other things and a crate containing three Antares Screamers."

Optimus picked up the fragment and scanned it. "Is this . . . is this what I think it is?"

"A fragment of the same material the road barricades are made from, yes." Magnus answered matter-of-fact.

Prime gazed at his Third in command. "This came with it?"

"It was found in the mess made while someone rummaged through the lock-up and stole several hand grenades, six Semi-Solars and one Screamer-one of the three we were never told about."

"Does Rodimus know about this?" Then Optimus remembered Roddi was sleeping, "Perhaps we'll wait until he's come out of recharge-" he amended.

"Rodimus was called out of recharge by the officer in question to investigate."

"Stickler?"

"That's the one."

Prime leaned against his desk and sighed, a sure sign he was far from happy. Magnus knew what it meant: Stickler was going to be reassigned and he himself had the pleasure of doing it. The City Commander already started thinking of places to put the figure of incompetence. The trash compactors would be a good start. All the trash compactors in the city needed a good washing. Then the Human physical facilities would be good, too. The sewers in Fort Max could use a good flushing . . .

"So, this means we have a Screamer out on the streets." Prime assumed. "And we don't know who has it, except they left this as a calling-card."

"Correct." Magnus confirmed.

Optimus handed the digipad back and swept up the broken monitor and promptly dropped it in the trash can. "Well . . . I'm heading into town, anyway. I want to personally talk to Tolomsky about the latest communication from the Doppelgangers."

"What?"

"Oh . . ." Optimus picked up a couple more digipads and set them on his desk, "it was another interrupted message broadcast from the Dopps. Something about an Executioner . . ." Prime turned to his friend, his optics narrowed, "Magnus, do you recall the phrase: 'KORDOK. ROCK NAAKANNNNNDA. DOISH."

Magnus' own optics narrowed and he stared at Prime in confusion. "I haven't heard that phrase in . . . . a very long time."

"Well, I heard it today, Magnus. The Executioner puppet used that very phrase."

Blaster buzzed him just then. "Prime." Optimus accepted.

"Yo, boss. Tolomsky's on the horn. Wants a talk at ya."

"Patch him through, Blaster."

Magnus smiled grimly. "I'm leaving to make someone's life miserable, Prime." He paused just then remembering to report their progress-or lack thereof on finding Groove.

Optimus waved as his friend turned away. "Chief Tolomsky?" He asked.

"Heyyy!" Tolomsky's voice rang through the room.

"What did you think of the broadcast?" Prime asked as he picked up a couple more digipads.

Magnus just about crossed the door threshold when Tolomsky asked "What broadcast?"

"Didn't you see it?" Optimus stood straight, staring at his city commander in puzzlement. Magnus froze and turned back, listening in.

"Sorry, Prime." Tolomsky muttered. "I don't have a clue as to what you're talking about."

"The Watcher." Prime answered, wondering why he was having to be so specific about a pirated broadcast. "The Doppelgangers sent another TV message."

Silence.

"Optimus . . . weeee . . . never intercepted any transmissions at the station. And we've got three TV's going on at once."

"It was a local channel." Prime explained. He waited while Tolomsky asked someone in the same room about any second transmissions. But no one seemed to know anything. "Nope. Sorry, Prime. No one here's seen anything at all."

"That's strange." Prime mused. "Max, did you record that transmission?"

"AFFIRMATIVE, COMMANDER." The city replied.

"And is it in fact a transmission?"

"YES."

"Max, burn a copy of it for me. Jax," he called to Tolomsky, "I'm bringing in a copy of the transmission. I should be there in forty-five minutes."

"Okay." Tolomsky answered. "See ya then." And he disconnected.

Magnus stared blankly at Prime, the puzzlement wouldn't leave his face and he crossed his arms, suddenly feeling cold inside. "The transmission was meant for you only."

"Apparently." Prime couldn't get over it, either. He kept trying to figure out how they could broadcast something like that right into someone's private lines.

Magnus thought it over a little more carefully. "That might explain the ancient Chunomik warrior's vow. You and I are the only-"

"Magnus!" Prime gasped. "You're right! You and I are the only ones here that knows anything about that! How could they know?"

Magnus fell dead silent a moment more, his optics shut off, his whole frame leaned against the doorpost, thumbing his chin. After a second, he gazed back at his friend. "It's possible that Rrogoche isn't a god at all, but alien Intelligence. It could be that this Intelligence has the ability to travel inter-spatially and/or lives in a sister-dimension."

Optimus thought it over also. What Magnus suggested wasn't all that improbable. Still . . . "Six million years or more. That's a long time to travel." Optimus set two more pads on his desk and decided he'd leave the rest for someone else to pick up. "Even for the distance between Earth and Chunom."

Magnus sent him a wry smile. "Everyone makes pit stops, Prime." he lightly joked.

"Very true." Optimus chuckled.

"KORDOK. ROCK NAAKANNNNNDA. DOISH."

"What is this?" Tolomsky snarled. "Sounds like Swahili slang."

"It's from a planet that no longer exists." Optimus replied in quiet, somber tones.

Streetwise, Tolomsky and Blades all stared at him in shock.

"Ultra Magnus and I . . . once visited a planet called Chunom far into the Sagittarius sector. Most of the villages and cities were decimated by what looked like an invasion. Those who survived were sick and dying from starvation. KORDOK. ROCK NAAKANNNNNDA. DOISH. Live Violence Die. The English translation might be more like: Live by violence, die by violence. It's an ancient gangster's vow of death; they would keep murdering and destroying until they themselves were killed."

Tolomsky had to remember his mouth was hanging open. He sighed, flabbergasted. "And how is it that these bozos targeted you for a private email?"

"I don't know." Optimus answered. "Ultra Magnus suggested that maybe Rrogoche is, in fact, an alien intelligence, rather than a god."

"Commander," Streets broke in, "that Chunomik phrase . . . why would the Doppelgangers use it?"

"It's a clue, Streetwise." The Autobot leader answered simply. "It tells me Rrogoche is responsible for the destruction of an entire planetary population."

Streets shook his head. "But . . . Optimus, considering the meager tactics the Dopps are using now, they could easily be stopped. The government is merely giving us time to deal with it ourselves but if the Dopps were a planetary-wide threat, all they'd have to do is bomb this whole area. I don't see how a group that concentrates only city-to-city could obliterate an entire planet. That doesn't make much sense unless Chunom wasn't very modernized."

"It was, Streetwise." Prime answered, "That's the kicker. Chunom was as advanced as Earth is now."

Streetwise turned to stare out Tolomsky's office windows. It made no sense. The Dopps' tactics weren't designed for planet-wide destruction. There was something else, something missing from it all. He turned back as Tolomsky finished reporting the discovery of three mutilated bodies found dangling from the rafters of a department store warehouse.

"Commander," he called after Tolomsky finished. "I just thought of something else: the DNA. How would it fit into this picture?"

Prime shook his head. "I don't know, Streetwise." He answered honestly.

"But . . . what you said, about Chunom, that similar circumstances occurred there . . . the DNA. Optimus, what if the alien intelligence is the source of the DNA? I know Mrs. J. said it wasn't real DNA, but it fits nearly all the criteria. What if it's DNA that's based on an alien life form, something we've never come across?"

"Makes sense." Tolomsky plopped a stuffed manila folder on his desk.

Blades frowned. "It still doesn't answer planet-wide destruction." He added. "Prime, even with all the powers that DNA/joys can provide, it still doesn't answer how they could kill a whole planetary population. Unless, of course, they had Screamers." He shrugged.

Prime thought it over carefully. He tried to recall the places he and Magnus traveled. He didn't mention the Decepticons he and Magnus and their troops fought. It was inconsequential information. The planet's population was already decimated when they arrived. It looked like an invasion. It looked as though something with terrible power came, obliterated the cities and people and left. The ecosystem was still in tact. The buildings, for the most part, were still standing. He turned to Tolomsky. "We must find that Screamer, Jax. I can't over stress the importance of finding that weapon."

"A new form of atomic bomb?" Tolomsky leaned against his desk and crossed his arms.

"No." Prime replied quietly. "Something much worse." He watched as Streetwise silently reviewed the recording. Optimus felt proud of his people. They worked hard, did everything in their power to get the job done. Blades silently pointed out the Human eyes under the mask of the Executioner and Streets silently nodded. Prime smiled privately. "I'm going to the I.G. building. Contact me if you've picked up anything."

Streets merely glanced at him and gave him a thumbs-up.

Prime departed and Blades replayed the recording.

Streets sighed lethargically. "Sometimes, I think Optimus has more faith in me than I do in myself."

"Whatzat mean?" Blades asked, not looking at him.

"I've been racking my processors for the last several weeks looking for little nuances, patterns, a certain phrase or symbol. You know, something that will give us more of a clue into how these guys think. And so far, there's been nothing that I can think of."

Tolomsky sat down and shuffled through papers, signing his name to several forms. "Ah, something's bound to click, Streets."

"It's so easy for you to say. But . . . I just can't see it, Chief." The Protectobot gazed out the window and into the streets, longing to see the 'whole picture' with better clarity. He had been through everything he could possibly think of from the masks and puppets to analyzing the equipment (or what was left of it) after the attacks. They examined the damaged trucks, finding the material again to be the very same as the barricades. It still didn't give Streets what he needed: an edge, a way to beat or meet these jerks at their own little game.

And he was frightened for Groove. They hadn't stopped searching for him, but Streets was needed here for the moment. Sideswipe, Tripcord and Tenton were scouring the city streets. But Streetwise would have preferred to do it himself. Eight days later, they still hadn't found a clue as to his brother's whereabouts.

He turned back to the video and watched as the Executioner took off one mask, another hiding behind it. Then it crossed its arm over Watcher's shoulders. It was an eerie sight. Something that might have been entertaining for children was turned into a nightmare. Two puppets. Two masks. Just a pair of demons like the Dopps and their twins.

"Aaaagggghhh!" Streets suddenly screamed. Tolomsky and Blades both stared at him.

"What?" Tolomsky shouted, startled.

"Them!" Streets stammered. "Two! Two!"

"Wha-?" Blades quipped. "What under the Earth are you talking about?"

"Two!" Streets was almost ready to crash right through the windows and he wished to all Primus that he had his collection of newspaper articles and video clips to prove his point. "Two! Oh, Primus! Everything is done in pairs! Think on it! Every time there's been an attack, it's always been done twice! The Dopps come in pairs! Optimus and Magnus were attacked by two trucks! There were two trucks at the school! There were two bombs at Kmart and at the mall and again on the second bombing! And at the theater! And so on and so on! Oh, Primus!"

Tolomsky stood and finished his coffee. "Better calm yourself there, Streets. You'll blow something out."

Streets laughed. "I don't know why I didn't see it all before, Chief! Rrogoche herself is not one gender, but two. The Dopps can divide themselves into two people. Whenever they attack, it's always been twice. Duality-blood and war. Through duality there is fulfilment and completion. There is complimentary and contrast. There is the authority and the subordinate. There is the predator and the prey. There is the attacker . . . and the victim. So, when the cult attacked, it attacked 2 cities, 2 peoples, 2 races two . . . what would be considered 2 in the city? What's considered double that might have some significance to the Dopps?"

Tolomsky shrugged. "Uh, I dunno. Seems the one thing the Dopps've never done is attack the same place twice."

Blades nodded. "Good point. How about that one, professor?" He asked his brother.

But Streets was thinking about Morgan Stadium and the building full of bodies Mrs Jamison discovered. What was the significance of those two? Or did they have anything to do with the cult at all? "I don't know." He answered quietly. "If and when the Dopps attack again, I'm sure it would be a place significant . . . to the whole city . . ." He turned back to Jax, his expression now a sudden blank. "Chief, what was that building all about anyway?"

"What? The one Mrs J found the bodies in?"

"Yeah, that's it."

Jax shook his head. "Parking. Not much else. There was an office at the top floor. But the building was going to be converted into a parking facility-"

"For Humans and aliens between the business district and the Mall." Streets finished. "And the Stadium . . . it was rebuilt after Blitzwing took it over and the Decepticons fought in it. Then the city held a trial . . . and the Zone Defense was used as a maze created by the Decepticons, then mapped out and turned into a game arena. There has to be something else in the city that has a significant duality. We must think of-" Street's internal comline called his attention. "Streetwise here." He answered.

"Hey!" Roddi's voice piped through. "I'm going Screamer-hunting. Wanna come and lend me a hand?"

"Now?" Streets asked, trying to figure a way to weasel his way out of it.

"Yeah. Now would be good." Roddi agreed. "And you can bring Blades with you. Air support would be nice."

"Well . . . okay." He moaned. Streets turned to Jax. "Guess the rest of my brainstorm will have to wait. My boss says he needs me and Blades to help look for that Screamer."

"That's alright," Tolomsky dismissed. "I'll give your problem to my boys, see what they come up with."

Optimus rounded the corner of August and Ninth Street in the Diplomacy District of Central City. He transformed in the parking lot, counting the number of people at work.

Not many. He hoped those that were here, left work early. He approached the bottom of the solid steel steps leading into the huge lobby when a small child peeked round the corner.

"Peek-a-boo!" It shouted at him in a strangely familiar voice. It laughed and Prime stared for a moment, expecting the child to peer round the corner again.

"Peek-a-boo!" And for half a second, half an eternal second, Optimus swore on whatever was sacred that the child was really the Watcher puppet. He slowly, cautiously rounded the corner, straining for a second glance.

"Peek-a-boo!" And the child-or whatever-slipped round the back of the building, leading Optimus on a goose-chase. Prime followed, almost unnerved at the very idea the puppet was really a living thing.

"Commander?"

Streetwise's voice disrupted Prime's little hunt and the Autobot leader turned around, nearly startled. He didn't know Streets was there! He stood straight, attending the Protectobot as he recovered his composure. "Streetwise?"

Streetwise did not approach him, "Sir, I was in the area, I was wondering if you'd picked up on the Screamer's signal."

"No. Isn't Rodimus looking for it?"

"Yes, sir."

Optimus withdrew, suddenly spooked.

Streetwise disappeared before his optics and a tree stood there in his stead. The Autobot leader stepped carefully away and glanced about, finding he was still at the IG building. The grass area, the trees and the parking lot hadn't changed, nor the number of cars. Surges snaked up and down his back as he made his way into the front lobby, greeted by a few hellos and waves from receptionists, delegates and a couple of interplanetary ambassadors.

Prime stepped to a receptionist's desk and signed in. "Dee, what day is it?" He asked casually. Although, he didn't need anyone to tell him.

"Friday, sir." She smiled, her optics glowing just slightly. "It's new moon tonight."

"Hmmhmm. Thank you, Dee. Oh, send all messages to my office."

"Alright, Commander."

Prime climbed upstairs to the second lobby and entered his office on the left hand side of the adjoining hall.

_Oh, geeze._ Roddi answered when Prime Called him.

_Let me guess._ Prime answered as he rummaged through a pile of digipads. _You caught yourself hallucinating._

_Yeah._

_Something about a-_

_NO! Don't say it! Don't say it!_

_puppet._ Optimus finished to be purposefully teasing.

_I told you NOT to say it!_ Roddi sent.

_I just had the same experience. Then I thought I was talking with Streetwise and he turned out to be a tree. How's the search coming along?_

_Not fast enough. We found two more bodies deposited in an old house. Funny thing is, they don't fit the ususal pattern._

_Oh?_

_Missing organs, parts of skin-_

Something suddenly hit Optimus square in the chest and he flew against the wall, knocked senseless for a moment.

_Did you feel that? Optimus_?

Red on black, red like blood. Red like the sunsets on Theta-9.

Black like flat spray paint.

_Optimus?_

_Roddi. Something hit me._

_I know . . . I know._

He came to when his intercom bleeped. It amazed Optimus how he was able to carry on a conversation with Rodimus while not fully conscious. What did that mean? How was that possible? It took him another six point four seconds before he could recover enough to answer the annoying bleeping sound. "Prime." He gasped.

"Sir? There's a phone call for you. A lady named Ashlyn. She say's it's urgent."

Prime climbed to his feet and sat hard in the chair, a little distressed. "Patch her through. Ashlyn?"

She sniffed, obviously sobbing. "I'm sorry." she wept. "I can't control-" she screamed and cried.

"Ashlyn?" Prime asked again.

"Yeah, I'm here. But the city, the city is so loud. And everything is covered in blood."

"Stay there. I'm coming right for you." He ordered.

"No! That's what they want! No! You have to call Rodimus back to the Fortress! Back!"

She screamed again.

"Ashlyn!" Prime shouted. He almost disconnected and would have run out had she not come back.

"The whole city is swimming in blood. You have to stay! Two moons, dark. Two minds, one soul. Two genders, one life. And a scream in the darkness of night, and the windows . . . so much glass! My hands hurt!" She started to sob again.

"I'm coming, Ashlyn." Prime disconnected and dashed out the building.

Optimus found his psychic friend hunched close to the brick wall of a cinema. Ashlyn was a bundle of nerves and she hid her face as he transformed. He quietly knelt before her, sorry for the over-stressed psychic. He should never have asked her on the job.

"Forgive me." He breathed quietly. "If I had known . . ."

Her eyes searched him, her face a twist of two sorrows exchanging places in her psyche. Ashlyn forgot the ache emanating from the city. The pain Optimus carried in his soul, wrought by years of personal tragedy and overwhelming responsibility, hurt more deeply than the death that stood poised over Central City. Ashlyn shuddered, unable to cry at this point.

"Can I give you a ride home?" Prime offered.

"This city is about to scream." Ashlyn didn't know why she said that. Something wriggled along her backbone and lifted her to her feet. She stared directly at Prime and suddenly she thought herself a puppet, a thing to be controlled and later broken.

A . . . plaything.

She stared at Optimus again, her head tilted back to perceive the giant robot. He considered himself a toy. Why? Invisible strings forced her to walk around him, examine him from a set of eyes not her own. He was a magnificent creature. The power within him was ancient, a power rare in the universe. One species, two races. Oh, what delicacy! Why, she could feast on this race, then search the universe and find the other race. Did she not hear the Autobots call their counterparts 'Decepticons'? Did they not mention in Fortress Maximus that the 'Decepticons' were a race of warriors? Ahh! A tactical advantage! The introduction of the Rites of War would sell those creatures well and she could make them swath a path of blood and destruction across whole planets, rather than obliterating a planet one city at a time! She could drink the blood of entire solar systems!

"Could you just take me to Fort Max for a while?" She asked against her own will. "I'd feel safer there. I just can't stay here right now."

"Very well, Ashlyn. Climb aboard."

He transformed, the trailer silently connecting. Ashlyn saw the whole thing through someone else's eyes and she screamed and screamed but was unable to do anything about it. She fought for control, but blood contaminated her feet and held her prisoner in her own body.

_Optimus!_ she tried to contact him, _No! It's a trap! It's all wrong!_

_I know._

Something mentally gagged her and she could say nothing more. But Ashlyn did receive another vision; one of City Commander Ultra Magnus making his way back to Central City. Three other Autobots tailed him transporting building materials. The great Autobot warrior believes he is coming into town to assist in a building that's about to collapse.

The psychic wanted to warn Optimus of impending danger. But now she could not give so much as a verbal warning.

"I got it!" Blades cried. "I got the signal!"

All the other Autobots, Roddi included, stared at him in puzzlement. Rodimus' optics narrowed, "I thought we couldn't pick it up at all."

"I dunno. Maybe the static cleared."

"I mean I'm not getting anything, Blades." The Autobot leader explained.

"But I have it." The Protectobot triumphantly insisted. "It's . . . it's south-east. Come on!" And he eagerly transformed and flew away. Rodimus exchanged uneasy glances with Hotspot. "I don't like this." Rodimus complained to the Protectobot leader. "If Blades picked it up, the rest of us should have been able to do the same."

"Maybe he set his frequency at a higher level or something." The Protectobot leader replied. "Maybe it's not a Zeta-9 frequency."

Rodimus doubted that, but he said nothing.

They moved out on San Jose Drive, just a quarter of a mile shy of the Ribbon. Roddi's sensors tingled and he took up the right side lane. They passed old abandoned buildings standing for many unaccounted years. He kept looking beyond them, expecting to see an alien truck or someone in an exo-suit or other crazed thing to just pop up from nowhere and attack.

Something was wrong.

Before he could account how many times his intuition had been right, the buildings around them burst open and three tanks fired on the Autobots.

Rodimus skidded, leaving tire marks along the road, the others around him veered off the side. Roddi transformed while his body still skidded over the pavement and he called his rifle from subspace. He fired, although he knew his efforts would do little good against the outer hulls. One tank lifted itself off its own treads and rolled forward, its underbelly opened up like a dancer tossing her clothes and fired armor-piercing rounds in every direction.

Rodimus dodged the fire and returned it, but the tanks didn't receive so much as a scratch. They advanced on Rodimus and Hotspot leapt over one tank, joining his leader in the barrage of fire.

"We're being herded." Rodimus shouted above their laser fire. He raised the power on his rifle and tried to fire right up the barrel. But all it did was blow that part of the tank away. Streets and Blades tried to fire from the backside, with the same results.

The tanks didn't fire, now, merely pressed the Autobots further and further up the ramp of the Fort Maximus Exit.

The tank sitting on its 'haunches' flipped its sides open and revealed a set of heat-seeking missiles.

"Oh crap." Rodimus said softly.

Up from the railing Ultra Magnus swung over and body-slammed the tank aimed at Rodimus. The tank fell on its side and the one next to it veered right, aiming a blast at the Major-General. But Magnus rolled right over the other side of the first tank, allowing the second to blow a deep gash into its topside. Rodimus and Hotspot joined Mags behind the first tank, the second now having to find a way to maneuver around the ramp without falling over the railing.

Rodimus gave Magnus an approving and grateful glance. "Didn't I hear Optimus say the Autobot Council once called you 'nefarious'?"

Mags gave him a broad grin. "The Council was angry because I taught Prime how to fight."

Roddi nodded. "I believe it."

They pushed the first tank over as well as they could. Streets and Blades got in behind them and pushed the overweight piece of scrap. Their efforts forced the second tank right up against the railing so that it could move either backward or forward, but not without endangering its balance against the railing

A missile whizzed over their heads and Magnus ducked. "Didn't know you had other company!"

Roddi glanced behind them and spotted three other tanks rolling in their direction. He grinned, privately uttering another choice word.

Ashlyn had fallen silent, watching the sun fall from the sky leaving the world in uneasy darkness. No moon came to replace the sun as it abandoned Central City. Optimus approached the Ribbon from the Oakview Exit and took a right at a stop sign. As he crossed the overpass, they approached a throng of prisoners bound hand and foot. A noose wrapped each of their necks as they stood stiffly atop the rail edges of the highway. Prime rolled to a complete stop and as he did so, six people were pushed off in pairs by the Dopps who guarded them. Optimus felt their bodies wriggling as the victims slowly suffocated.

Ashlyn abandoned him and Prime transformed, pulling his weapon from subspace. As he did so, four other people, tied to light poles, were lit on fire.

The Autobot leader tried to free them with the pinpoint accuracy of his weapon.

The Dopp warriors, clad in the strange exoskeleton armor charged him, running and forming a V-formation in two rows. The first row slid to their knees before the second and they shot him with stolen semi-solar .19s. Optimus took on the terribly bright, stinging rays of alien laser fire from a weapon designed to slaughter vampires. Prime wasn't about to take kindly to the Dopps anymore. He raised and fired back, slaughtering them one at a time.

"STOOOOP! ALL OF YOU! STOP!" Someone shot at the Dopps from the back side and Prime lowered his rifle, firmly commanding his body to ignore the flaring pain that coursed under his plating. He waited until Brian's form emerged, pushing his way forward, Rusti firmly in his clutches.

Prime's optics flared and he waved Rodimus and Magnus back as they arrived behind him. He felt a sense of urgency from Rodimus, but this was not the time to panic.

Not yet.

"ALL OF YOU!" Brian screamed at the top of his lungs, "YOU WILL ALL PUT DOWN YOUR GODDAMNED WEAPONS AND SURRENDER! OR SHIRLEY TEMPLE HERE DIES!"

Optimus read shock in the Dopps standing between he and Brian. They were no more aware of this than the Autobots. Everyone put down their weapons except Op and Roddi.

No one spoke.

Brian pressed the barrel of the rifle against Rusti's temple.

A bad thing to do. Rusti freaked and squirmed. "DON'T LISTEN TO HIM! HE'S A FUCKING DOPP! KILL IT! KILL IT!"

Before anyone could react, the three tanks tracking Mags and Roddi came up from the other over pass and shot the center of the street, killing two other Dopps and scattering the rest. Rusti bit down on Brian's hand and the Dopp reacted with a shout.

Optimus fired and shot the creature dead in the forehead. It dropped Rusti and fell flat on its back. Rusti scampered on all fours and Prime lost optical with her.

Another bomb went off, fired by the tanks and a good portion of the on-ramp cracked, crumpled and fell. Autobots and Doppelgangers alike raced to Rusti's side of the ramp while the pass fell over and smashed against another overpass, obliterating one tank as it collapsed.

And then it happened. There came a shriek. If it were from the heavens, it would have to be the voice of God, crying the death knell of millions. If it were from hell, it would have to be all the demons bound together in divine torture, screaming for the release of nonexistence.

Optimus and Rodimus gazed from the location of the noise and their optics followed a trail of complete obliteration as an invisible power swathed a path of desolation in its wake. If mountain, it now stood with a hole in its belly. If building, it collapsed. If land, then a great scorch mark remained where the power touched it. And it went on for one, five, seven, nine. Nine echos. Ninety miles. Nine seconds. The two Autobot leaders gaped at one another.

Someone fired the Antares Screamer and it scarred the earth with the power of pure sound.

A collective cry echoed and three Dopps lost their minds and patience and pushed prisoners off the bridge at random, lighting the bodies of other gas-drenched victims.

One of those was Dezi and Rusti screamed, scampering to help her. The jerk who was about to light her merely pushed the girl away, trying to get his lighter to work. Rusti's body trembled with rage and she grasped a nearby weapon. She thought for a moment; she had no idea how to use it.

She thought again. She didn't need it. She pointed a finger at the ass: "Nak." And the man flipped over the rail himself and met his 'god'. Rusti hissed inward as a laser grazed across her back, slicing her blouse, sizzling her skin.

Laser fire, both from Autobots and the Dopps shot back and forth, the Autobots picked off the Dopps one or two at a time, the Humans seemed to ignore the entire barrage as others came to replace them.

For all their efforts, the Autobots were actually accomplishing nothing. One tank came up from behind and fired at Magnus square in the back. Optimus ordered Hotspot and Blades to cover him while he dragged Magnus out of harm's way.

"This is futile!" Streets shouted as another part of the on-ramp fell from beside them. "We're all going to get killed by those damn tanks."

No one answered him, which irritated the detective even more. Streets slammed at the sidewalk with his fist. What an idiot. "Hotspot, Rodimus!" He called, "We've got it all wrong! We should be attacking their religion, not them!"

"What are you talking about?" Rodimus snipped in irritation. He hissed inward as an already deep wound took on two more strikes from the Semi-Solars. Their bursts of burning light ate him up inside like a bad case of heartburn. Roddi knew if he took enough hits, it could melt his servos.

"It's the Dopp's greatest asset! Their twins! If we could kill the twins off, it leaves them half themselves! Twos! They operate in doubles! But we have no way of seeing them!"

Rodimus narrowed his optics, wondering why he and Optimus didn't realize the answer long ago. Rusti could see them, why didn't they? But then, a Human was a creature of random. Psychic abilities existed in random chances, controlled only by a randomness of genes. He took up Street's suggestion, switching his conscious psychic level to gamma and the whole world changed to a blood-red hue and the overpasses on which they fought turned crimson, cold with the lives taken in the battle. Was this how Rusti saw things?

Sure enough, there they stood. The wooden puppets Rusti claimed she saw stood in and around all their flesh-and-blood counterparts. Rodimus abandoned the Humans and shot the twin Doppelgangers.

Rusti prayed her sister hadn't died from gas inhalation. Dezi lay on the cement, unconscious. The girl cut the ropes tightly binding her sister's body and set her ear to Dezi's chest, listening for a heartbeat. But with all the gunfire and shouting around her, Rusti couldn't make out anything.

She ducked when another Dopp in exo-suit dashed quickly amid the bodies. Her blond hair flowed out from under her helm, her feet light. As she ran, other cultists started to take their prisoners and tortured them or killed them slowly.

"No!" She shouted to the other Dopps. "Forget it! Forget it all! It's time for Lord Rrogoche to come! The time is now! Kill them all! Kill every one of them!"

Rusti swallowed hard, laying as still as she could, eyes closed tight. She heard screams and pleas as people wept while their bodies were torn asunder or shoved off the overpass to their deaths.

The air grew hot and all light flared in fire and blood and Rusti dared to look as a translucent red shape rose from the middle of the road. The head lifted toward the sky, a deep cry of bloodlust rose from the shape and two sets of clawed hands plunged on either side of the bridge. The face swooped down and devoured those prisoners not yet killed by the Doppelgangers. The frenzied cultists whooped and hollered in praise as their god spoke in their alien language.

Optimus slowly rose from attending Magnus' wound. He and Rodimus exchanged looks, again shocked by the sight and power of the Rrogoche Cult. The creature came right out of the asphalt of the passway, its followers now formed a circle while It plucked up the kidnapped victims, living or dead and devoured them.

The Antares Screamer was fired again, this time just missing the whole platform everyone stood on and obliterated another tank, counting three for three.

Rodimus' optics narrowed and he recalibrated his rifle as quickly as he could while the Dopp was still in sight. He concentrated, leaving everything else out of his mind and he aimed for the cannon-end of the Screamer, first canceling the force field then firing a power-draining shot from his rifle and obliterating the Screamer. The shock of it, however, flared high and killed its bearer.

Optimus covered Roddi while he tried to recharge his rifle. The Senior Prime kept firing at every twin he could see, and took out a few of those that weren't. Their numbers grew fewer and fewer until Blades ran out of power and scrambled to find another weapon.

The numbers fell to fewer twins than twenty and Rrogoche screamed and wreathed as though in agony over the death of her children. She glanced about the battlefield, finding most of the Dopp twins lying useless. There were no other living victims on which she could feed and with a glance at Rodimus, the great creature began to obliterate his own people, slicing their bodies just to hear them scream or devoured them entirely.

Optimus found he could not watch this. He had seen such sights all too often. He turned away, knowing why those people shrieked, knowing what was going to happen to them if they survived their.

And then, as if justice had finally been served, as if the deaths of the Doppelgangers had paid for all their crimes, the sun broke through the darkness of the night, rising over the crest of the Cascade Mountains and shot out over the city, snapping between buildings and peeking through the ruins of the bomb sites.

Rrogoche shrieked, not with the high pitch of the Antares Screamer, but with the realization that defeat had come far too soon. He/She realized the battle was over and there were no other worshipers to bring more offerings of death and sorrow.

And an ancient legend, recalled only vaguely by an underground cult rose high overhead as the sun brought warmth to the frosted land. Rrogoche stretched her mouth toward Optimus and Roddi but dissipated like the mist, vanishing in silence, wisped away with a rising warmth.

Optimus dropped his rifle and tried to ignore the mess the Autobots stood in. He slowly stepped his way around dead bodies, searching for one 'little bird'.

Rusti sat up and gladly accepted his hand.

The clean-up crews arrived and worked long into the day. The ribbon would be out of service for at least a month. Tolomsky cupped his coffee between his hands and sipped it while his boys came and left, reporting every ten minutes. First Aid arrived and once again they carried Ultra Magnus back to Fort Max while Hotspot directed others to assist in the gathering of bodies and clearing streets.

Optimus and Roddi exchanged reports with the EDC and Central City authorities and finally decided it was time to leave.

"It's over." Optimus told him solemnly. There are no others to follow Rrogoche. I don't think It will be back."

Tolomsky tried to ease his upset stomach with antacid. "I, uh, I'm sorry we didn't come sooner."

"Forget it, Jax. It would only have resulted in more casualties."

Rodimus gazed down at Rusti who now slept soundly in his arms. "You'll allow us to take her home, wontcha, Chief?"

"Allow?" Tolomsky echoed. "I won't let anybody else take her. I've got an APD out on Brian right now." He fell silent for a moment, his stomach queezing. "You know, I really don't see how a god could kill its own worshipers like that."

Optimus searched the sky in a glance, "Rrogoche was not a god."

Her radio gabbed on about the custody battle between the Autobots and the Witwickys. Rusti frowned as she towel-dried her hair. Roddi put her to bed without bothering with a bath. He roused her two hours after that to give her something light to eat, then he put her back to bed. She slept hard until late morning the following day and never did she recall being so glad to have her own private bathroom! She was grateful for the privacy, time to herself to settle down and slowly rebuild her psyche while she bathed.

Rusti dressed, finding her hands still shaking. Her nerves were still on edge and it was hard controlling and concealing it. She was angry beyond words at Brian, saying nothing about her parents. She was frightened for Dezi who was admitted into a hospital and treated for gas inhalation.

Rusti decided to slip her exo-suit on under her jeans and shirt, just to be on the safe side. She slipped her new tennies over the soles and glanced at the mirror to make sure everything was in place. No one could tell she had an experimental suit under her clothes.

It was just cool.

Rusti ran a brush through her yet-dampened hair and swept up a jacket. She opened her door and found Streetwise poised to knock. He smiled sheepishly and he and Blades stepped aside to allow her to walk between them.

"Hi." Rusti greeted without moving from her place at the door.

"Uh, hi, Miss Witwicky." Streets stammered.

She batted her eyes. "Whatcha doing?"

Streetwise knelt before her, his face downcast. "Groove is missing." He put simply. "We were wondering if you could help us find him."

That memory had all but gone cold for her, but Rusti figured she could recall enough to give them a fair lead. She set her lips in a straight line and merely nodded.

Rodimus left Optimus to deal with the inventory in Magnus' place. He, and the four Protectobots made their way back to the VR park, this time hoping Rusti could point to the whereabouts of the Protectobot's brother.

They stood in the center square and let her take a look around first. Rusti had never been here before and she was astonished at the size of the park. A large wooden fort was the first thing she saw. It was huge, filled with rooms, ladders and ropes. A large tower crowned its center and Rusti could think of all kinds of wonderful fantasy adventures to play in it. There were buildings painted brightly with murals and signs that either gave directions or advertised other areas of the park. There was a large labyrinth for paintball and a 'safe zone' for toddlers. Three stores in the immediate area offered snacks and comics while a fourth offered memorabilia. It was hard for Rusti not to dream about what she would do here if she had time and money.

She drew a deep breath, concentrating on where she might have been found. She turned left and tried to match the colors and lights in her memory with what she was seeing here. It was hard because she was so tired and hungry when Brian found her, she couldn't think straight.

"I think it's this way." She guessed.

"Are you sure?" Streets challenged.

"Well, no. I don't know what time it was when I was found, just that the light was really bright and I was really tired."

Blades bent over slightly to get her attention. "Then how do you know you were even here? How will we know for sure?"

She thought it over carefully then it dawned on her: "Because Brian never replaced the grate. We left and they didn't bother to put the grate back where it was."

Rodimus turned to Blades. "Your turn there, pal."

"I'm on it." Blades ran a few paces before transforming and flying out then zooming back for a better aerial view.

Rusti felt cold. Amid all the wonderful colors and fun things to do at the park, it bore an evil air. It made her uneasy. After all, how often does one get to attend an amusement park? What underground thing lies doormat until one calls its name so loud? Does death call it forth? If so, then it lies there, waiting . . . she opened her eyes and realized what was going on;

The VR park was haunted.

Rusti decided she didn't like the place after all.

"Hey!" Blades called. "I found something. It looks like a hole in the flooring."

"Where?" Hotspot demanded.

"By the Tyger's Den area."

They had to walk nearly around the mountain and it was then that Roddi realized the VR center wasn't just built into the mountain there in Central City, but it was part of the mountain itself.

"This is it!" Rusti cried as she approached the grate. She pointed into the tunnel. "I climbed through that, but I don't know from where."

Rodimus turned to Hotspot. "Service tunnel? Air shaft? Sewer?"

The last one made the girl's nose wrinkle, repulsed by the idea that she may have been crawling in a sewer.

"Mmmm . . . mmm . . . ventilation, most likely." Spots returned as his optics sized Rusti up and down. "It could be a sewer, but from her description of the room they were in, most likely not."

"Ventilation from what?" Blades asked. "A kitchen?"

"Nnnnnooo." Hotspot answered slowly. "If I recall, VR World smokes its own salmon and jerky. It could be in a room that allows them to do that-perhaps someplace in the mountain itself."

Roddi thought it a brilliant deduction and had them split up into two teams; one searched outside the building, the other inside the mountain.

Rusti followed a bit reluctantly. The longer she was here, the less she liked it. She tagged Roddi and Streets anyway, hoping something more than a few stores would pique her interest. But when they arrived in the center of the atrium, Rusti picked up a serious disturbance, an echo, really. She glanced all around the empty lobby, ignoring the beautiful rest area and the waterfall still running. She turned in every direction and found a trail. Without a word, she abandoned Rodimus and Streets and bolted right for the very door Ashlyn had gone through leading into the employee's exit and thereafter, the House of Reflections.

Rodimus and Streets caught up with her. "Heey!" Roddi called. "Wait up for us!"

Rusti glanced at them for a second, then her eyes glanced all up and down the hall. One door led to a janitor's closet. Another led to the next retail shop. Another still led to the House of Reflections.

But they were all wrong. She kept glancing around. Ashlyn had the right idea. But she was frightened and tried to find an escape route.

She had the right idea . . . but Rusti found it. It was lost to the patterns on the floor tiles, but it was there; a trap door.

She pointed to it. "I am not going down there."

Streets didn't care. He started to lift the flooring while silently notifying his fellows to the spot. He and Rodimus managed to pull the flooring up by the edges and set it aside.

Streets didn't bother with the vertical ladder. He jumped right in and glanced three directions. A wide room met him, cold with darkness. And just behind him stood another room, that one remained closed. He swung his light from one side of the room to the next, spotting several racks of drying jerky and freezers protecting salmon. The strong smell of smoke and salt permeated the room.

He didn't see anything. At least not yet. He aimed for the door as Roddi noiselessly joined him. Streetwise opened the room and cringed at the mixed scent of death and embalming fluids. And the two Autobots found the cement flooring covered in old blood.

But they did not see one single body hanging from the ceiling.

_"No bodies here, Lady Friend."_ Roddi reported.

_"That's impossible!"_ Rusti returned. _"I know what I saw!"_

_"Yes. I know." _

"Groove!" Streetwise cried. He ran to his brother and hoped they arrived in time; he felt they did. But poor Groove lay in pieces.

First Aid entered and made a gaging sound. "Let me see here." He called. He laid a laser hypo against Groove's audio and waited a moment. Sure enough, Groove's optics lit up, although weak.

"Heeeyyy!" He feebly greeted. "Like my new quarters? I thought . . . since my present neighbors complain about the noise I make, I might move down here."

"Very funny." First Aid answered evenly.

Hotspot stepped into the hallway and he crossed glances with the girl. "Roddi says there's no bodies down there." Rusti informed.

"Maybe they were used out on the bridge." The former ranger suggested.

"No, they were already dead. But now they're gone."

Hotspot never got the chance to speculate. First Aid called him down to help gather Groove's pieces.

The Autobots resurfaced and Rusti stepped aside as they came up one at a time. It was over. Rusti dreaded what lay ahead of her: she had go back to court.

* * *

They dragged the trial hour after weary hour for four days. Much of what was said in the trial was already spoken in the hearing. The Defense was given permission to have their say first. The Witwickys stuck to their guns as the natural parents in the issue, declaring the Autobots incapable as a species.

No one could read the faces of the jury as they heard Dezi's testimony, then Delphra's.

A day later they dragged Rusti in to testify on her own behalf. The Prosecution paced once. "Rusti, in your own words, can you look me in the eye and tell me truthfully; are your parents good parents, or not?"

"Objection, Your Honor!" The Defense stood. "The question is unfair."

"Why?" Volmers asked calmly. "Is that not what this is all about? Objection overruled. Prosecution, please continue."

Rusti could not look her parents in the eye. She knew what would happen, the rift she placed between they and she would never be healed. She gazed at Op and Roddi. "I am not safe at home. I could have been raped. I could have . . ." She struggled to keep from crying. she closed her eyes and a tear escaped her self-control. "I lost everything I owned in my room. He took away my toys and my clothes and my drawing pad. He let Brian to come back after he hurt me. He let Brian poison me with 'joys'. I can't sleep in my bed anymore, I'm afraid I might get . . ." She would have said 'killed', but the thought choked her and Rusti finally broke down and wept.

The Prosecution stared sympathetically with the little girl a moment longer, so obviously wanting to comfort the grieving child. But this was business, not a church function. "No further words, Your Honor."

The judge nodded. "Rusti, you may step down."

Rusti feebly moved off the witness stand and was greeted by Aunt Missy who laid a warm coat over her shoulders and dried her tears.

The Prosecution and Defense made their concluding statements but Rusti paid them no mind. She really just wanted to go home and either watch TV or curl up with a good book and quiet music.

"Jury," Volmers called later. "It is left to you to decide the verdict. However, it behooves this court to remember I make the final judgment. You may all retire to your chamber for your decision."

Exhausted, Rusti snuggled close to Captain Fairborn. The Captain could not turn and look at Rusti's parents. But she felt them stare disdainfully at her. It didn't matter what they felt or did anymore. Rusti was going to stay out of their hands one way or another; even if she herself had to disappear with the girl. But Marissa hoped it would not come to that. It would only cause more mistrust between the Autobots and Humans and at this delicate time in history, Earth needed the Autobots.

The jury filed out of their chamber. Marissa gasped and Rusti slowly sat up. They were done already?

She turned in her seat and gazed at Optimus. But he did not return the fear in her eyes. He waited. Rusti sighed, taking some comfort in that.

The jury took their seats and Volmers finished a glass of water. "Jury of the supreme court of Douglass County, have you reached your decision?"

"We have, Your Honor." The spokesman answered. He brought a torn piece of paper out of his pocket and took a deep nervous breath. "In light of the events from Easter to today, May 21st, 2021, we have come to the conclusion that Resonna 'Rusti' Witwicky be placed under the custodianship of Optimus and Rodimus Prime for the benefit of her safety and well-being."

Rusti covered her mouth and Marissa embraced her closely. People all over the room let out a collective sigh of relief or gasp of shock.

Volmers struck his gavel for attention and the crowd fell respectfully quiet. But the room was filled with barely controlled excitement.

"It is the final decision of this court that Optimus and Rodimus Prime be awarded custodianship of Resonna 'Rusti' Witwicky and all the duties and responsibilities therein. All detail matters will be conducted in the final draft of the arrangement. Rusti will be allotted visitation rights to her family, but her residence will be on the property of Fortress Maximus."

Outside the courthouse, news reporters lined the steps and lawn, awaiting the final word. Optimus exited first, but kept clear of them. He waited while Rusti and Marissa filed out with the rest of the crowd, people milling around, congratulating them.

His optics caught sight of someone sitting against a tree. It was Dezi, from what he could tell. She sat there alone, not so much as a book or a calculator laid in her arms. He quietly approached the downcast young woman.

But Dezi could not look at him.

Prime knelt quietly before her and examined her before speaking. "I'm sorry you and your family have suffered so much, Dezi. I know you must be very angry with me and Rodimus for taking your sister away."

She said nothing at first, her hands clutched an old well-worn Raggedy Ann doll. "You took nothing, Prime." She answered softly. "You would do nothing to take anything away. Even I know that." She looked up at him, tears marking her cheeks. "You see, in another year, I will be going to college. There will be no one home to take care of Res. No one to make sure of anything. So I had to do something. I had to make sure that when I come home, I come home to a sister who's still alive and happy. She can't be happy at home. Dad took everything away from her. Is that fair? He's an obsessive control-freak. He tried it with me. So I buried myself in my books to get away. But Res isn't like me. She can't be like me. She needs freedom. And I knew that and so . . . I had to do something to ensure her safety. Even if it meant missing her."

"You . . . you're the one who alerted the news media?"

Dezi shamefully nodded. "It was all I could think of. It was the last shred of hope. I thought that if people knew what was going on, if someone else knew, then they would take action"

"The runaway note? The DNA sample? The box?"

Dezi nodded. "It was me. All of them."

The two of them turned back toward the courthouse and watched while Aunt Delphra made a big production of herself and shouted at Rusti.

Dezi moaned. "That woman."

Optimus stood, silent as the soft spring breeze on a warm day. "Dezi, if you ever need anything you know who to call."

Her eyes climbed three stories high, and smiled a thank you.

Optimus stepped carefully away from her and transformed. "Rusti," he called. "Say good-bye to your aunt. It's time to go home."

The girl smiled and walked away from Delphra just as a Marshall approached and handed Delphra an envelope.

"What's this?" The dark-haired woman asked.

"A subpoena."

She opened the letter and her face flushed hard. She turned brusquely away, trailed by reporters and cameramen. And where she left, Daniel and Netty descended the front steps.

Rusti turned to Optimus as he opened the door for her. Before she boarded, her father called out to her. Reluctantly, Rusti sighed and supposed she should at least be civilized. She could afford it, now that she was no longer under her father's control. The girl turned back with a blank expression and Daniel handed her a drawing pad; saying nothing of the fact that he found it in her bedroom.

"I . . . I think this is yours, Resonna." He stammered.

She took it and ran her thumb over Brian's name inscribed over the cover. "I guess not all monsters are big and ugly, huh, Dad?"

He gave her a forced smile and nodded, thinking what a price he paid for Brian.

But Rusti wasn't talking about Brian. She stared at her dad a moment longer, then decided it would never hit home. She gave her mom a hug and a meaningless kiss and forced herself, however she loathed it, to hug her dad. But it was empty. There had never been a relationship between them and with each gesture of worthless sentiment, Rusti felt that much more distant.

And the meaningless, empty gesture made her feel awkward and dirty.

Optimus closed the door after she boarded and slowly rolled off the lawn. He drove three streets from the courthouse and passed onto a main road. He remained silent, very sorry for it all to have happened.

And he wondered how this turn of events would affect Rusti in the long run of her life.

Optimus managed to steal bed-tucking privileges from Rodimus that night. Rusti sighed, glancing at all the things surrounding her in her own little room in Central Command. She snuggled down under the blankets and gave him a smile of satisfaction.

"Will you be alright?" Optimus asked her. She had decided to sleep here tonight, asking him only to tuck her into bed.

"Yeah. I'll be okay." She answered.

"You might have nightmares, you know." He warned.

She thought it over, and decided she would not. Rusti was Home for good, now. No more sleeping in the closet, no more noises in the middle of the night, or fearing coming home from school the next day. "I'll be okay, Optimus." she promised.

He nodded and rose, aiming for the door.

"But, there is one thing!" She called, as though changing her mind. "I have to tell you something."

He glanced back at her then turned around.

"But, it's a secret." She smiled coyly and wiggled her finger for him to come closer.

He knelt. "I'm listening, Rusti." He said softly.

"No. Max is too." She shook her head. "I don't want him to hear it."

Prime shook his head. "I can swear to you that Max won't tell a soul."

"Optimus." She insisted.

His turn to smile and he got all the way down for her to whisper in his audio receptor. Rusti got up on her knees and lightly kissed him. Then she bounced back in bed and flew the covers over herself.

Optimus felt that little kiss; light as the first sprinkle of snow. He laid his hand on his face plate, words escaping him entirely. He sat up on his knees.

"Good night, Optimus." Rusti had her back to him now because she was trying not to giggle.

He was at a loss for words. "Uhh . . . hah, uh, good night, Rusti." He doused the light, leaving the room shadowed by a comforting darkness. He entered the corridor, hand still on his face plate. He smiled and couldn't decide whether or not to laugh. He turned and found himself scrutinized by two femmes. Optimus shrank away in embarrassment. "Heh, she kissed me." End

To be continued in Devil's Dance

T.L. Arens


End file.
